1 


.  X 

V 


BRANDON; 


A  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO, 


BY 

OSMOND    TIFFANY. 


NEW    YOEK: 

STANFORD   &   DELISSER, 

508     BROADWAY. 

1858. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1853,  by 

STANFORD   &   DELISSEE, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office,  for  the  Northern  District  of  New  York. 


EDWARD  0.  JENKINS, 

printer  anH  Stertotgper, 

26  FBANKFOET  ST. 


TO 

REV.    CONVERS    FRANCIS,    D.  D., 
OP 

fjmrfrarfr  College, 
CAMBRIDGE,  MASSACHUSETTS. 

MY  DEAR  SIR  : 

I  take  great  pleasure  in  dedicating  this  little  work  to  you,  in 
accordance  with  your  kind  permission.  You  have  long  placed  me 
hi  your  debt,  by  advice  and  encouragement  to  pursue  the  path  of 
Literature.  Conscious  of  the  inadequacy  of  this  offering  to  repay 
you,  it  will,  I  know,  be  welcomed  as  a  slight  but  sincere  token  of 
my  gratitude. 

I  am,  my  dear  Sir, 

Ever  truly  yours, 

OSMOND  TIFFANY. 


2054395 


PREFACE. 


THE  story  of  "  BKANDON,"  which  is  now  submitted  to 
the  Public,  was  written  three  years  ago,  soon  after  the 
Author's  removal  from  the  city  of  Baltimore.  At  that 
period,  the  literary  labors  of  a  host  of  writers  turned 
towards  fiction,  as  a  chosen  field.  The  astonishing  suc- 
cess of  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  and  the  popularity  of 
other  works,  such  as  "The  Wide,  Wide  World,"  and 
"  The  Lamplighter,"  had  stimulated  a  thousand  prolific 
pens,  and  novels  appeared  and  disappeared  in  such  cease- 
less succession,  that  even  those  of  merit  were  in  many 
instances  borne  down  by  the  weight  of  the  many  more 
which  were  good  for  nothing. 

In  the  crush  and  hurry  of  the  time,  the  author  found 
no  chance  to  multiply  copies  of  his  work,  and  he  was 
advised  by  disinterested  friends,  who  read  his  MSS.,  to 
wait  patiently  until  the  hurricane  blew  over.  It  died 
away  at  last,  leaving  the  public  with  no  further  appetite 


VJ  PREFACE. 

for  imaginary  horrors  or  raptures.  Books  illustrating 
real  life  were  wisely  sought.  Dr.  Kane's  immortal  vol- 
umes were  welcomed  by  millions  of  the  soundest  readers 
and  thinkers  of  the  country,  while  Earth's  and  Living- 
ston's Travels  in  Africa  earned  hearty  commendation — 
proving  that  narratives  of  real  heroism  always  charm  the 
great  heart  of  humajaity,  whether  brave  actions  transpire 
beneath  the  burning  equatorial  sun,  or  amidst  icy  Arctic 
solitudes.  The  great  commercial  revulsion  of  the  past 
year,  following  upon  the  decline  of  the  romance  mania, 
also  put  an  effectual  quietus,  for  the  time  being,  on  sen- 
sation books.  Men  with  rum  staring  them  in  the  face, 
and  women  with  helpless  children  to  clothe  and  feed, 
quite  forgot  their  wonted  interest  in  sighing  Strephons 
and  love-lorn  Chloes. 

In  its  main  feature,  the  experience  of  Lucy  Tyrrell, 
"Brandon"  is  founded  on  fact,  only  that  the  time  has 
been  thrown  back  upwards  of  fifty  years.  It  is  unneces- 
sary to  state  more  particularly  the  source  of  the  writer's 
material,  which  he  has  thus  worked  into  the  story.  He 
thought  that  the  manners  and  social  life  of  the  "  Old 
Dominion,"  with  the  introduction  of  some  of  its  cele- 
brated characters  in  the  early  days  of  Washington,  might 
prove  acceptable  to  the  reader ;  and,  while  looking  into 
the  history  of  the  colonies  "  a  hundred  years  ago,"  he 


PREFACE.  Vli 

was  struck  with  the  interest  of  the  Canada  campaign  of 
1759,  which  is  ever  memorable  from  the  surrender  of 
Quebec.  The  fascinating  character  of  General  Wolfe, 
with  his  daring  and  successful  assault,  appeared  to  the 
author  to  offer  a  brilliant  episode,  and  he  has  yet  to  learn 
that  the  events  of  that  grand  enterprise  have  been 
hitherto  embodied  in  the  pages  of  prose  fiction. 

Whether  the  costume  of  the  period  which  the  author 
has  sketched  is  strictly  correct,  he  must  leave  to  his 
readers  to  decide ;  but  he  can  safely  say,  that  the  his- 
toric details  of  the  story  have  been  carefully  studied. 
From  his  long  familiarity  with  Rhode  Island,  he  trusts 
that  his  pictures  of  Newport  in  the  olden  time  may  still 
be  recognised,  although  the  place  is  no  longer  what  it 
once  was,  especially  during  the  period  treated  of,  when, 
in  the  words  of  good  Bishop  Berkeley,  it  was  "  the  most 
thriving  place  in  all  America  for  bigness." 

Should  the  work  which  is  now  humbly  offered  to  the 
public  meet  with  its  favor,  the  writer  may  be  induced  to 
recur  again  to  a  period  which  abounded  with  romantic 
interest  and  deeds  of  worth,  before  the  chain  which 
bound  the  old  thirteen  provinces  to  the  mother  country 
was  snapped  asunder — when  the  strong  men  and  lovely 
women  of  the  Colonies  were  loyal  subjects  of  the  English 
kings. 


viii  PREFACE. 

In  conclusion,  the  Author  begs  leave  to  state,  that  the 
verses  on  page  168  are  not  original  with  him,  but  have 
been  contributed  by  a  poetess  whom  he  is  proud  to  claim. 
as  friend.  Although  in  youth  he  long  dreamed  of  a  seat 
on  Parnassus,  he  is  happy  to  state,  that,  fortunately  for 
his  relatives'  peace  of  mind,  as  well  as  his  own,  the  delu- 
sion expired  with  his  one-and-twentieth  year. 

SPRINGFIELD,  MASS., 

August  14,  1858. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


PAOB 

THE  ISLAND ...  9 


CHAPTER  H. 

THE  OLD  DOMINION 17 

CHAPTER  IH. 

CHRISTMAS  AT  KINGWOOD 26 

CHAPTER  IV. 
INSIGHT 36 

CHAPTER  V. 
A  WARNING 44 

CHAPTER  VI. 
LUCY  AND  THE  RECLUSE 50 

CHAPTER  VH. 

LUCY  IN  BOSTON...  .     69 


x  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

PAGE 

"LOVE'S  DELIGHTFUL  STORY" 68 

CHAPTER  IX. 

MISFORTUNE 76 

CHAPTER  X. 

A  MEETING  AND  A  LETTER 84 

CHAPTER  XL 

RANDOLPH'S  HOME 87 

CHAPTER  XII. 
THE  MEETING  WITH  A  GREAT  MAN 93 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
MILDRED  AND  HER  FORTUNE ....  101 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER 114 

CHAPTER  XV. 

MR.  BRANDON  INDIGNANT 120 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

RETROSPECTION _  127 


CONTENTS.  XI 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

PAOB 

BARLOW  A  VESTRYMAN 134 

CHAPTER  XVIH. 

LUCY'S  TRIALS 140 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

RACHEL'S  HISTORY 147 

CHAPTER  XX. 
NEWPORT  OF  OLD 155 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

VISITING  A  TIGER 167 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

TRAITORS  IN  THE  CAMP 177 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

LUCY'S  NEW  HOME 188 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

EVIL  TIDINGS 195 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

CHARLES  JOINS  THE  ARMY. . .  . .   203 


xii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

PAQ« 

A  "  HERO  IN  HISTORY  " 213 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

QUEBEC 218 

CHAFfER  XXVin. 

A  DOUBLE  CAPTURE : 233 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

CHANGE  OF  OPINION 256 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
THE  FATE  OF  MILDRED 264 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
LUCY  SURVIVES  HER  SORROW. . .  . .  276 


BRANDON; 


OR, 

A   HUNDRED    YEARS   AGO. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE   ISLAND. 

NOT  far  remote  from  the  southern  shores  of  Massa- 
chusetts lies  a  stern  bleak  island,  whose  barren  soil 
almost  denies  common  nourishment  to  man,  but  which, 
for  more  than  two  hundred  years,  has  nurtured  a  hardy 
race,  who  love  their  rocky  home. 

It  is  exposed  to  the  full  fury  of  the  ocean,  and  when 
the  blasts  of  winter  rise  into  tempests,  its  shores  are  too 
often  strewn  with  the  wrecks  of  hapless  vessels,  over- 
whelmed by  the  Atlantic  surge.  High  above  the  crags 
beetling  over  the  waves,  bleak  downs  offer  scant  pastur- 
age to  sheep,  a  few  acres  of  marsh  afford  haunt  to  wild 
fowls,  a  snug  harbor  and  two  or  three  sheltered  coves  dot 
the  coast,  and  the  long  line  of  sandy  beach  elsewhere 
stretches  to  the  verge  of  the  sea. 

Such  is  the  island  now,  and  it  was  much  the  same  "  a 

hundred  years  ago,"  uninviting  and  of  almost  savage 

aspect.     Yet,  as  we  observed  before,  it  cherished  a  hardy 

race — men  of  toil,  but  thoroughly  independent  in  a  life 

1*  <9) 


10  BRANDON  ;   OB,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

which,  though  fraught  with  constant  danger,  bore  with 
it  a  fearful  fascination.  At  first  sight,  one  might  wonder 
that  so  many  women  and  children,  unaccompanied  by 
men,  should  form  the  population,  but  an  instant's  glance 
at  the  sea  told  the  reason.  Thousands  of  miles  beyond 
their  ken,  over  its  waters,  the  fathers  of  these  families 
were  scattered.  Almost  their  whole  lives  were  passed 
upon  the  ocean  in  pursuit  of  the  whale ;  far  away  in  the 
region  of  tempests  which  enshroud  Cape  Horn,  or  amid 
the  more  dreadful  terrors  of  arctic  latitudes. 

The  entire  population  of  the  small  rude  village  bore 
marks  of  maritime  life  ;  from  earliest  boyhood  the  youth 
was  trained  to  pull  the  oar  and  mind  the  helm,  and  long 
before  manhood  to  follow  the  calling  of  his  ancestors,  who 
had  all  been  sailors.  Even  those  remaining  on  shore 
looked  as  if  subjects  of  Neptune's  domain,  who  had  left 
it  but  for  a  brief  season  ;  bare-legged  urchins  might  be 
seen  disporting  along  the  edges  of  the  coves  in  pursuit 
of  luckless  shrimps,  while  here  and  there  something  in 
shape  of  a  man  enveloped  in  a  pea-jacket  of  portentous 
size,  with  a  face  which  the  salt  spray  of  many  years,  aided 
by  the  sun,  had  bronzed  and  hardened,  lounged  against 
a  boat  upon  the  beach,  gazing  out  at  sea  with  eyes  which 
had  no  speculation  in  them,  or  mended  nets  with  huge 
paws  rough  with  excrescences  like  barnacles.  Such  a 
character  is  to  be  met  in  every  sea-port  town  ;  one  who 
prides  himself  on  knowing  a  thing  or  two,  as  well  as  some 
other  folks ;  whose  whole  talk,  outside  of  his  calling,  lies 
in  "  wise  saws  and  modern  instances,"  taciturn  as  a  fish, 
yet  bluff  as  Boreas. 

The  houses  were  rude  in  construction,  seldom  of  more 
than  one  story,  and  of  great  similarity  in  appearance. 
Their  low,  dim  apartments  were  frequently  decorated 
with  the  shells  and  corals  of  the  sea,  mingled  with  various 


THE   ISLAND.  11 

objects  of  the  fisher's  craft.  Nets  suspended  to  the 
walls,  coils  of  rope  stowed  away  in  corners,  a  rough  ta- 
ble and  chairs  to  match,  with  the  spinning  wheel,  whose 
ceaseless  drone  was  heard  all  day,  were  seen  in  every 
cottage.  Besides  such  furniture,  in  one  or  two  tenements 
more  favored  than  the  rest,  hung  strange,  outlandish- 
looking  weapons  and  carved  paddles  from  Indian  seas, 
side  by  side  with  rusty  lances  and  harpoons,  to  each  of 
which  attached  some  tale  of  wonder.  No  garden  spot 
cheered  the  eyes  of  the  occupant,  and  the  invariable 
prospect  commanded  by  each  abode  was  of  bleak  hills  on 
one  side,  and  for  contrast  on  the  other,  boundless  ocean. 

Only  two  buildings  in  the  whole  village  betokened  care, 
or  any  attempt  to  render  them  attractive ;  one  was  the 
parish  church,  small  but  neatly  built,  enclosed  by  its 
grassy  yard,  in  which  slept  many  of  the  ancient  settlers, 
their  tombstones  of  dusky  slate  carved  with  their  name 
and  age,  a  sepulchral  urn,  a  drooping  tree,  and  some- 
times a  frightful  head,  intended  either  for  an  angel's,  or  as 
an  emblem  of  the  "Sun  of  Righteousness,  with  healing  in 
his  wings." 

The  parsonage  house  was  in  keeping  with  the  church, 
and,  though  old-fashioned  and  rough  in  construction,  be- 
tokened neatness  and  comfort.  It  was  placed  in  a 
sheltered  nook,  which  a  turn  in  the  road  disclosed,  and  a 
jutting  spur  of  the  cliff  broke  the  force  of  the  wind  from 
it.  Its  little  garden — the  only  one  in  the  place — well 
kept  from  weeds,  displayed  a  few  bright  flowers,  to 
reward  the  labor  bestowed  upon  it.  Over  the  porch  a 
luxuriant  vine  was  trained  to  the  eaves  of  the  house,  and 
nearly  closed  one  or  two  of  the  windows,  at  the  same  time 
forming  a  hiding  place  for  birds,  which  built  their  nests 
in  its  branches. 

The  family  consisted  of  the  Rev.  Francis  Tyrrell,  his 


12  BRANDON  ;    OB,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

wife,  and  their  only  child,  a  daughter,  Lucy,  at  the 
period  of  which  we  now  speak  nearly  sixteen  years  of 
age.  How  the  good  man  came  to  settle  on  this  barren 
island,  its  inhabitants  never  troubled  themselves  with 
asking.  Perhaps  he  could  have  scarce  told  himself, 
beyond  the  fact  that,  falling  early  in  love  and  marrying 
without  fortune,  he  was  forced  to  seek  an  asylum  where- 
ever  it  offered,  and  therefore  accepted  this  post,  the  first 
and  best  that  chanced  to  him. 

He  was  a  man  of  liberal  education,  a  graduate  of  Har- 
vard College,  and  of  more  than  ordinary  talents  and 
acquirements.  Thinking  that  he  should  ere  long  change 
for  a  better  position  in  life,  year  after  year  had  he  re- 
mained, becoming  not  only  contented  with  his  lot,  but 
endeared  to  it,  happy  in  doing  good  hi  his  own  humble 
way,  and  repaid  by  the  affectionate  respect  of  the  whole 
parish,  and  the  society  of  his  wife  and  child.  His  appear- 
ance at  once  betokened  the  gentleman ;  an  air  of  mingled 
dignity  and  sweetness  well  became  his  sacred  profession. 
His  calling,  which,  in  those  days,  was  much  more 
reverenced  than  it  is  now,  invested  him  in  some  degree 
with  the  carriage  of  one  having  authority;  but  in  the 
benevolent  expression  of  his  face  one  looked  in  vain  for 
lines  of  hauteur,  and  no  rebuke  fell  from  him  unless  well 
merited. 

His  labor  of  love,  as  he  ministered  to  the  spiritual  and 
temporal  wants  of  his  people,  made  his  life  one  of  interest 
and  beauty ;  he  took  delight  in  the  office  which  led  him 
to  visit  every  hamlet  in  the  island,  and  study  the  peculiar 
character  of  each  inhabitant.  Uniting  a  knowledge  of 
the  healing  art  to  his  pastoral  charge,  as  was  then  com- 
mon in  New  England,  the  sick  were  gladdened  by  his 
kind  smile,  and  assured  of  renewed  health ;  while  to  those 
who  required  no  medicine  his  timely  advice  was  always 


THE  ISLAND.  13 

welcome.  The  boys  but  half  suspended  their  sports  as 
he  passed,  their  awe  being  tempered  by  confidence,  and 
sometimes  the  heart  of  one  of  those  oddities  in  a  pea 
jacket  would  be  rejoiced,  as  the  minister,  without  com- 
promising his  dignity,  joined  in  a  day's  fishing,  and 
listened  patiently  to  yarns  heard  a  hundred  times  before 
of  whales  and  whalers.  • 

In  the  pulpit  he  made  no  display  of  learning  or  attempt 
at  brilliancy,  but  the  service  was  impressive,  and  in  an 
age  when  strong  doctrine  was  inculcated,  his  sermons 
were  always  replete  with  instances  of  Divine  love ;  while 
the  tremulous  accents  of  his  voice  as  he  poured  out  his 
soul  in  prayer  and  thanksgiving,  softened  his  hearers,  and 
led  them  to  hope,  even  when  he  had  spoken  most  point- 
edly of  their  guilty  state. 

Beyond  these  occupations,  the  minister  was  daily 
engaged  in  cultivating  a  few  acres  of  ground  which  the 
care  of  years  had  rendered  tolerably  productive,  and  the 
hours  which  time  yet  left  him  were  passed  at  home  with 
those  after  his  own  heart,  or  with  his  books,  of  which  his 
store  might  amount  to  two  hundred  volumes. 

His  wife,  a  woman  of  no  inconsiderable  beauty,  of 
strong  mind  and  contented  disposition,  was  well  formed 
to  be  his  helpmate  in  that  stern,  wave-bound  home. 
They  had  not  lived  without  affliction,  for  more  than  one 
of  their  children  lay  in  the  churchyard,  leaving  only  Lucy, 
their  first-born,  to  gladden  and  bless  them. 

Lucy,  innocent  and  pure  in  heart,  looked  as  if  the 
breath  of  heaven,  and  the  sea,  and  the  sunlight,  might 
have  helped  to  form  her.  Her  shape  was  graceful,  her 
motions  free  as  the  wave,  and  it  demanded  little  fancy 
in  the  beholder  to  liken  the  tinge  of  her  tresses  to  the 
golden  light  of  the  daybeam,  or  the  calm  rich  blue  of  her 
eyes  to  the  serene  depths  of  the  waters,  or  the  stain- 


14          BRANDON  ;    OB,  A  HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

less  purity  of  her  complexion  to  the  snowy  shell  which 
the  ebbing  tide  left  at  her  feet  upon  the  shore.  Lucy 
had  no  companions  of  her  own  age,  and  had  been  reared 
almost  without  playmates.  She  was  of  different  mould 
from  the  cottage  children,  and  her  parents  had  not  en- 
couraged intimacy  beyond  that  prompted  by  good-will 
and  kindness. 

She,  from  earliest  childhood,  was  their  own  companion, 
the  sharer  in  all  their  joys.  She  was  now  able  to  relieve 
her  mother  of  much  care  in  household  duties,  but  she  was 
the  closer  partaker  of  the  life  of  her  father,  who  had  been 
her  only  teacher.  That  age  was  one  of  fewer  books  than 
this,  but  it  produced  far  better  scholars.  Under  her 
father's  guidance,  she  had  become  not  only  skilled  in  the 
English  language,  but  also  in  Greek  and  Latin.  A  child 
learns  one  tongue  as  easily  as  another,  and  looking  up  to 
her  father  as  the  wisest  man  on  earth,  as  well  as  the  best, 
her  quick,  earnest,  little  mind  soon  mastered  the  diffi- 
culties of  those  ancient  languages,  and  she  would  recite 
with  redoubled  pleasure  as  she  observed  the  bright  look 
of  gratification  which  was  sure  to  reward  her  diligence. 
How  precious  were  the  hours  passed  in  that  father's  simple 
study.  She  was  happy  to  sit  at  his  feet  and  con  her  task, 
to  listen,  as  he  always  blended  amusement  with  instruc- 
tion, or  sometimes  with  rapt  gaze  watch  him  as  he  com- 
posed his  weekly  sermon. 

A  constant  companion  in  his  walks  and  visits  to  his 
parishioners,  the  tongue  that  uttered  thanks  to  him  never 
failed  also  to  bless  his  Lucy.  She  was  loved  by  all  the 
cottagers,  and  their  regard  for  her  had  been  frequently  ex- 
pressed in  simple  presents,  some  of  their  own  handicraft 
but  many  more  the  rarer  offerings  of  the  sea. 

No  shell  or  pebble  of  more  than  ordinary  beauty  could 
be  found  but  was  added  to  Lucy's  collection,  and  no  sea- 


THE   ISLAND.  15 

man  returned  from  a  distant  voyage  without  a  token  of 
remembrance,  some  curiosity  in  coral  or  fantastic  carving. 
In  her  own  neat  chamber  she  had  tastefully  arranged  all 
these,  some  little  story  attaching  to  every  one ;  but  she 
prized  beyond  all  her  own  collection  of  sea  mosses, 
brilliant  greens  and  purples,  contrasted  with  brown  and 
purest  white ;  some  almost  like  the  flowers  of  earth  in 
shape,  others  of  exquisite  fern-like  forms,  so  delicate  as  to 
offer  no  impression  to  the  touch.  Many  she  had  gathered 
with  her  own  hands,  others  had  been  brought  to  her  from 
foreign  climes — 

"  From  Bermuda's  reefs,  from  edges 

Of  sunken  ledges 
In  some  far  off  bright  Azore  ; 
From  Bahama,  and  the  dashing 

Silver-flashing 
Surges  of  San  Salvador." 

Lucy  loved  the  ocean ;  it  had  become  to  her  more  than 
a  friend ;  she  was  familiar  with  it  in  its  every  mood ;  she 
lingered  beside  it  when  it  heaved  gently  in  sunlit  calm ; 
she  listened  for  hours  as  its  mighty  voice  spoke  in  tem- 
pests. She  beheld  it  from  her  chamber  window,  spread- 
ing to  her  sight  in  grey  and  solemn  grandeur,  as  she  rose 
with  the  dawn  of  day,  and  hastening  to  the  beach,  on 
which  its  billows  broke  in  thunder,  waited  for  the  com- 
ing of  morning.  She  saw  the  waters  change  from  sombre 
gloom,  to  colors  instinct  with  life,  as  they  reflected  the 
yellow  and  crimson  clouds  which  heralded  the  sun ;  then 
as  its  golden  column  gleamed  along  the  sea,  and  the  ma- 
jestic luminary  soared  heavenward,  marked  with  delight 
its  beams  sparkle  on  the  azure  surge.  Or,  at  hushed 
noon,  she  sought  some  sheltered  cleft  in  the  rocks,  listen- 
ing to  the  dashing  of  the  waters  as  the  tides  rose  or  fell, 


16  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

and  many  a  tale  of  wonder  and  peril,  which  she  had 
heard  from  the  old  cottagers,  seemed  to  be  repeated  by 
the  sea.  As  in  a  mirror  it  showed  her  the  distant  islands 
of  the  south,  where  dusky  forms  stood  beneath  the  palm 
and  cocoa  trees,  and  the  coral  insect  built  its  palaces ;  or, 
in  the  arctic  circle,  the  skiff  of  the  Greenlander,  who 
sought  the  seal  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  awful  iceberg. 

But,  dearest  to  her,  were  those  hours  after  sunset  hues 
had  died  away,  when  the  moonbeams  silvered  the  waves 
and  changed  even  the  hard  rocks  to  shapes  of  beauty,  or 
in  darker  evenings,  when  only  the  "  sentinel  stars,"  shone 
radiant  from  their  celestial  watch-towers.  Then,  the  im- 
agination of  the  musing  girl  drew  around  her  visions 
strange  and  beautiful,  as  by  the  wand  of  Prospero. 

Thus  Lucy  grew  to  womanhood,  and  that  rude  island 
held  a  home,  in  which  one  spirit  was  bright,  one  flower 
was  always  blooming. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE   OLD   DOMINION. 

THE  scene  now  changes  to  a  land  of  richer  mould,  and 
brightened  by  a  warmer  sun,  far,  far  away  from  Lucy's 
humble  home, — into  the  heart  of  Virginia  in  the  olden 
time.  Different  indeed  this  region,  adorned  with  luxuri- 
ant forests,  and  majestic  rivers;  glorying -in  ranges  of 
towering  mountains ;  and  peopled  by  another  race  than 
the  descendants  of  the  stern  New  England  Puritans. 

As  the  rocky  wilderness  of  the  north,  sheltered  a  band 
whom  persecution  drove  from  their  ancestral  firesides,  but 
whose  ordeal  in  the  New  World  was  welcome  in  the 
golden  light  of  religious  freedom,  so  the  genial  clime  of 
Virginia  allured  adventurers  more  gently  nurtured,  who 
carried  with  them  much  of  the  wealth,  refinement,  and 
festive  spirit  which  distinguished  them  in  Britain. 

So  loyally  attached  to  the  church  and  state  of  Eng- 
land, as  well  as  to  its  customs,  were  the  gentry  of  the 
Old  Dominion,  that  a  hundred  years  ago,  the  traveler 
resting  at  one  of  their  hospitable  mansions,  might  easily 
imagine  himself  surrounded  by  the  luxuries  of  an  Eng- 
lish home. 

On  the  north  bank  of  the  River  James,  about  eighty 
miles  from  the  sea,  Kingwood  Hall,  the  well  known  and 
proud  seat  of  the  Brandon  family,  stood  in  all  its  glory 
in  the  year  1755.  The  voyager  floating  on  the  river, 
looked  with  pleasure,  as  through  the  foliage  of  aged  trees, 
he  caught  sight  of  the  glittering  vane  which  topped  the 
central  tower  of  the  mansion ;  and  as  he  swept  past,  be- 
held with  the  feelings  of  longing  the  massive  proportions 

(IT) 


18  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

of  the  pile,  from  whose  clustered  chimneys  rose  the  smoke, 
indicative  of  good  cheer  within.  The  house  was  placed 
some  thirty  feet  above  the  bed  of  the  James,  and  the 
natural  banks  had  been  shaped  into  successive  terraces, 
the  highest  one  decorated  with  a  small  garden  in  the 
formal  geometric  style,  and  balustrades  of  wrought  stone, 
and  large  vases  of  the  same  material. 

The  Hall,  bearing  date  of  1670,  had  been  reared  by 
Sir  William  Brandon,  Knight,  who  emigrated  to  Vir- 
ginia, and  left  behind  him  a  vast  entailed  estate,  now  in 
the  possession  of  his  grandson.  The  house  was  of  brick 
brought  from  England ;  between  the  wings  rose  a  square 
massive  tower  which,  mantled  with  the  ivy's  growth  of 
half  a  century,  presented  a  baronial  aspect ;  while  at  lofty 
height  was  placed  the  clock,  which  in  sonorous  peals  told 
the  hours,  as  time  pursued  its  round.  The  gardens  com- 
manded a  pleasing  view  of  the  river,  winding  away  be- 
tween its  green  banks,  and  as  lovely  a  landscape  opened 
to  the  view  on  the  other  side  of  the  Hall.  A  lawn  of 
emerald  verdure,  gently  sloped  from  the  house ;  the  circle 
bounded  by  the  carriage-drive,  was  embellished  by  an 
equestrian  statue  of  King  Charles  I.,  and  the  luxuriant 
richness  of  the  turf,  afforded  parade  to  several  proud 
peacocks — birds  which  are  best  fitted  for  appendages  of 
aristocratic  display.  In  the  noble  avenue  of  oaks  and 
elms,  and  groves  of  other  beautiful  trees,  the  eye  de- 
lighted to  linger  for  a  season ;  then  beyond  them  marked 
the  blue  distant  hills,  which  rose  into  the  western  sky, 
and  denoted  the  margin  of  the  manor.  In  the  middle 
ground,  might  be  descried  flocks  of  sheep  nibbling  the 
tender  herbage;  or,  dashing  across  the  lawn  troops  of 
deer,  who  sought  the  little  brook  that  ran  singing 
through  the  forest,  over  its  bed  of  mossy  pebbles. 

The  ulterior  splendors  of  Kingwood  were  worthy  of 


THE   OLD   DOMINION.  19 

such  a  domain.  The  visitor,  entering  from  the  tower, 
passed  through  a  vestibule  into  the  principal  hall,  panelled 
with  dark  oak,  around  which  rose  the  stately  stairs  of 
solid  stone,  guarded  by  a  rich  carved  balustrade ;  occu- 
pying almost  as  much  space  as  is  devoted  to  the  whole 
of  a  modern  mansion.  Large  full-length  portraits  of 
former  Brandons,  hung  in  this  hall ;  some,  of  a  century 
back,  robed  hi  quaint  but  gorgeous  dresses,  such  as  they 
had  worn  in  the  presence  of  their  sovereign ;  others,  clad 
half  in  steel,  represented  an  age  ere  armor  fell  into  total 
disuse.  The  platitudes  of  Kneller,  who  smothered  all 
expression  in  his  countenances,  however  celebrated  their 
owners,  and  buried  them  in  wigs  that  rose  high  above 
the  brow,  and  hung  curling  down  on  to  the  shoulders, 
were  amply  redeemed  by  the  graces  of  Lely's  pencil, 
exhibited  in  three  or  four  of  those  delicious  female 
beauties  who  sparkled  hi  the  court  of  the  second  Charles ; 
and  above  all,  by  more  than  one  master-piece  of  the 
incomparable  Vandyke.  Nor  were  the  paintings  con- 
fined to  portraiture.  Here  was  a  genuine  landscape  of 
Salvator's,  as  wild  a  scene  as  ere  he  "  dashed,"  a  mountain 
cavern  whence  issued  a  robber  troop,  in  the  light  of  the 
redly  sinking  sun.  Here,  a  drinking  bout  of  some  Dutch 
master,  a  laughing  chorus  and  ringing  glasses ;  and  here, 
the  purer  genius  of  Ruysdael  shone  in  a  woodland  scene, 
the  branches  of  the  trees  still  swayed  by  the  storm,  while, 
through  the  clouds,  the  sunlight  broke  in  golden  gleams 
on  the  swollen  brook  and  waving  grain. 

Ample  resources  lay  before  the  loiterer,  the  student, 
or  the  sportsman.  A  billiard-room  and  a  tennis-court, 
attracted  lovers  of  these  interesting  games ;  a  noble  library 
offered  to  intellect  its  treasury  of  genius ;  and  the  lounger, 
who  cared  neither  for  books  nor  in-door  sports,  had  but 
to  walk  to  the  stables,  or  the  kennels,  to  find  a  breed  of 


20  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

horses  and  dogs  unsurpassed  by  any  other  estate  in  the 
colonies.  The  entire  mansion  was  furnished  in  a  style 
uniting  splendor  with  comfort ;  and  the  numerous  apart- 
ments were  decorated  with  many  a  classic  bust,  and  many 
an  antique  cabinet  of  precious  inlay  and  carving.  In  one 
of  the  lesser  rooms,  hung  a  small  but  choice  collection  of 
armor,  and  weapons  of  offence,  of  European  and  Oriental 
fabric.  Here,  prized  beyond  all,  was  the  sword  of  Sir 
William  Brandon,  who  in  youth  had  fought  for  his  king 
at  the  battle  of  Naseby ;  here  too, — must  it  be  confessed ! 
— the  spurs  which  urged  his  flying  steed  from  the  pursuit 
of  Cromwell's  troopers,  in  that  memorable  defeat.  In 
company  with  these,  glittered  the  badge  of  knighthood, 
pledge  of  Charles  the  Second's  gratitude  to  the  cavalier, 
at  the  Restoration ;  and  above  the  mantle,  the  full-length 
portrait  of  Sir  William  himself,  kept  guard,  as  the  tutelary 
genius  of  Kingwood. 

But  we  write  of  glories  long  departed ;  vainly,  now, 
the  voyager  may  search  for  Kingwood  Hall — the  river 
and  brook  still  flow  on,  the  blue  hills  yet  lie  serene  in  the 
landscape — but  long  since  ceased  the  bell  to  sound,  long 
since  fell  the  tower.  Wild,  tangled  shrubs  grow  among 
the  shattered  walls,  the  owl  hoots  from  a  loophole  in  the 
brick-work  which  still  marks  the  place  of  a  window  of 
the  mansion,  whence  many  a  bright  face  had  looked  out 
upon  the  garden ;  and  of  the  noble  pile,  once,  perhaps, 
the  first  of  the  ancient  dominion,  a  few  mouldering  frag- 
ments stand  in  sad  memorial 

The  family  at  Kingwood  consisted  of  Mr.  Richard 
Brandon,  his  wife  Eleanor,  and  their  only  son,  Charles 
Stuart.  Of  the  old  Virginia  Gentleman,  a  race  said  to 
be  well  nigh  extinct,  never  on  earth  was  there  a  prouder 
specimen  than  in  the  person  of  the  Lord  of  the  Manor. 
He  was  proud  of  his  family,  which  was  ancient  enough, 


THE   OLD   DOMINION.  21 

his  pedigree  running  back  far  beyond  the  valorous  Sir 
William,  whom  he  regarded  by  no  means  the  founder  of 
his  line,  but  as  one  of  its  scions  favored  peculiarly  by 
fortune,  in  making  the  name  more  illustrious  than  it  had 
ever  been  before.  But,  in  himself,  he  worshipped  one 
scarcely  less  distinguished ;  he  considered  it  his  due  that 
the  neighboring  gentry  should,  without  demur,  regard 
him  as  a  superior  being.  Beneath  the  rank  of  gentry, 
Mr.  Brandon  did  not  look;  such  persons  might  have 
opinions,  or  they  might  not ;  but  that  they  possessed  the 
privilege  of  comment  and  criticism  on  men  like  him, 
was  an  idea  not  to  be  tolerated  for  an  instant.  He  was, 
in  short,  an  uncompromising  aristocrat ;  as  benighted  a 
being  as  existed,  spite  of  his  belief  that  the  universe  was 
created  mainly  for  King  George  II.,  and  that  the  sun, 
illuming  his  court  with  full  splendor,  mercifully  bestowed 
a  few  beams  on  the  Western  Hemisphere,  about  the  region 
of  Kingwood,  leaving  the  rest  of  the  human  family  to 
perpetual  gloom.  Passionately  devoted  to  heraldry,  and 
regarding  it  as  one  of  the  noblest  studies  of  a  gentleman, 
he  often  spent  hours  in  poring  over  musty  family  rolls 
and  dingy  folios,  with  a  view  of  compiling  a  genealogy 
of  his  own ;  a  work  on  which  he  had  been  engaged  for  at 
least  thirty  years.  He  was  proud  of  his  blood,  his  estate, 
his  wife,  and  his  son;  prouder  of  himself  than  either. 
Intense  as  his  loyalty  might  be  to  the  reigning  sovereign 
of  Great  Britain,  his  adoration  of  the  dethroned  Stuarts 
far  exceeded  it. 

King  Charles  I.  was,  as  Mr.  Brandon  thought,  not 
only  a  true  saint,  but  a  martyr  whose  death  the  whole 
British  nation  could  never  expiate.  Therefore  every  year, 
on  the  anniversary  of  his  execution,  Kingwood  Hall  hung 
morally  in  black,  and  its  lord  humbled  himself  in  spiritual 
sackcloth  and  ashes.  In  memory  of  the  worshipped 


22  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

monarch,  he  had,  at  immense  cost,  imported  from  England 
the  equestrian  statue  on  the  lawn ;  and  his  satisfaction 
would  have  been  complete  if  historic  truth  would  have 
sanctioned  a  recumbent  figure  of  Cromwell  beneath  the 
hoofs  of  the  horse.  In  opinions,  Mr.  Brandon  was  a  despot. 
To  differ  from  him  was  next  to  high  treason ;  for,  in  his 
own  estimation,  he  was  one  of  the  few  men  not  only 
always  exactly  right,  but  who  had  never  made  a  mistake 
in  his  life.  He  looked  his  character,  being  portly,  lordly, 
and  pompous.  His  tall  and  strong  frame  had  been  puffed 
up  by  a  profusion  of  roast  beef  and  ale,  which  he  loved 
because  his  English  ancestors  did.  His  face,  ruddy  with 
health  and  the  exercise  which  hunting  gave,  was  one  of 
good  nature  itself,  beaming  with  thorough  satisfaction 
of  his  own  importance,  and  was  seldom  ruffled  unless 
some  one  happened  to  dissent  from  his  views,  when  a 
frown,  which  he  imagined  to  be  terrible,  gathered  upon 
his  brow.  On  such  occasions,  a  lofty  condescension  of 
manner,  which  forbade  argument,  became  manifest ; 
which,  when  his  opponent  had  left  him,  was  changed  for 
a  look  of  supreme  contempt,  accompanied  by  a  formal 
elevation  of  the  chin,  and  such  a  flourish  of  his  heavy 
gold-headed  stick,  as  could  only  be  equalled  by  the  pom- 
posity of  a  drum-major. 

Yet  he  was  kind  and  courteous ;  a  humane,  indulgent 
master  to  his  slaves ;  and  a  loving,  generous  husband. 

The  wife  of  his  bosom  was,  indeed,  worthy  of  fervent 
affection.  She  was  as  remarkable  for  sweetness  of  dis- 
position, and  true  dignity  of  demeanor,  as  her  husband 
was  noted  for  assumption.  A  look  of  goodness  and  purity 
beamed  from  her  soft  grey  eyes,  and  it  was  said  that  no 
one  approached  her  and  remained  a  few  moments  in  con- 
versation, without  becoming  attached  to  her.  Peculiarly 
pleasing  to  children,  she  had  the  happy  art  of  ruling  them 


THE   OLD   DOMINION.  23 

by  love ;  and,  crowded  with  guests  as  the  mansion  often 
was,  when  the  juveniles  assembled  she  knew  how  to 
banish  every  conflicting  interest  of  rival  troops  so  easily, 
that  their  own  mothers  were  taught  lessons.  But  she 
was  no  less  devoted  to  the  management  of  her  vast  estate, 
than  in  ministering  to  the  pleasures  of  her  visitors,  in 
social  hours. 

Nothing  connected  with  her  farm  escaped  her  notice  ; 
nothing  was  ordered  that  she  did  not  know;  nothing 
concerning  the  cattle,  the  horses,  the  dairy,  the  poultry, 
the  flower  and  vegetable  gardens  but  was  duly  and  daily 
noted  in  her  book  of  housewifery.  Thus  she  passed  seve- 
ral hours  every  morning,  not  forgetting  her  visit  of  good 
cheer  to  the  cabins  of  the  slaves,  to  whom  she  was  less  a 
mistress  than  a  friend,  and  who  always  looked  eagerly  to 
see  her  come  with  some  nice  present  for  the  aged  or  the 
sick,  to  inquire  of  some  new-born  infant,  or  to  impart 
words  of  hope  and  consolation  to  some  one  on  the  last 
stage  of  earth's  journey. 

She  was  of  rich  and  rare  beauty,  with  a  form  of  luxuri- 
ous symmetry,  which  set  off  the  graces  of  dress  in  the 
highest  degree.  When  within  doors  she  appeared  to 
entertain  her  guests  with  utmost  ease,  and  with  happy 
tact  she  always  led  and  changed  the  conversation  at  the 
dinner  table,  seeing  that  every  one  of  right  bore  part  in 
it,  and  that  no  one  was  suffered  to  monopolize  it ;  re- 
warding a  brilliant  sally  with  ready  repartee,  and  en- 
couraging the  diffident  by  a  sweet  smile  of  regard.  All 
this  was  blended  with  an  innocent  spirit,  and  with  piety, 
which  unobtrusive,  yet  leavened  her  whole  character,  and 
shed  its  light  throughout  all  the  household. 

Of  the  heir  of  Kingwood  we  shall  say  but  a  few  words 
in  this  chapter. 

Charles  Stuart  Brandon  was  now  nineteen  years  of 


24  BRANDON  ;    OE,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

age,  and  almost  the  counterpart  of  his  mother  in  appear- 
ance. The  same  elegance  of  figure  distinguished  him, 
only  that  it  was  more  slender  than  hers  ;  the  same  smile 
displayed  a  like  quiet  love  of  fun,  and  the  soft  grey 
eyes  shone  with  equal  tenderness. 

This  strong  resemblance  had  at  times  rather  disturbed 
Mr.  Brandon,  who  would  have  preferred  his  son's  features 
moulded  to  the  type  of  his  ancestors,  especially  Sir  Wil- 
liam, the  beau  ideal  of  chivalry,  and  whose  haughty  linea- 
ments the  father  thought  repeated  in  his  own — an  opinion 
shared  by  no  one  else.  Still,  in  spite  of  teasings  and 
tutorings,  and  his  sire's  long  lectures  on  the  necessity  of 
copying  Sir  William  in  all  things,  in  hopes  of  eventually 
resembling  him,  nature  would  have  her  way,  and  refused 
to  Charles  other  likeness  than  his  mother's.  He  had  been 
chiefly  reared  under  her  tuition,  and  although  his  father's 
aristocratic  predilections  had  had  great  influence  on  his 
son,  the  mother's  good  sense  had  uprooted  many  a  weed 
in  his  mind,  which  folly  would  have  suffered  to  grow  un- 
checked. 

He  had  been  two  years  at  the  Cambridge  'University, 
where  his  father  had  been  before  him ;  the  mother's  in- 
fluence had  sent  him  to  the  Massachusetts  colony,  in 
order  that  a  more  liberal  state  of  feeling  and  thinking 
might  direct  him  than  if  he  remained  surrounded  by  the 
feudal  state  of  Kingwood. 

Reared  as  he  had  been,  imbued  from  his  earliest  youth 
with  exclusive  notions  of  rank  and  caste,  he  was  not 
happy  when  first  transplanted  to  a  sphere  in  which  a 
different  state  of  society  prevailed,  and  where  he  was 
made  to  feel  that  his  own  position  was  not  deferred  to  as 
in  Virginia.  But  he  soon  observed  that  a  stronger  stimu- 
lous  nerved  ambition,  that  a  wider  field  opened  for  dis- 
tinction, that  only  talent  commanded,  and  was  deferred 


THE   OLD   DOMINION.  25 

to  as  soon  as  known,  that  manly  independence  character- 
ized all  classes,  while  in  polished  circles  the  elegant  graces 
of  life  were  not  less  cultivated  than  in  the  latitude  of  his 
own  home.  He  soon  became  reconciled  and  pleased  with 
the  change.  "  Things  must  have  strangely  altered  since 
my  father's  time,"  he  thought.  "  If  the  world  is  not 
wiser  it  is  older,  and  I  can  live  no  longer  as  I  have  all  my 
life,  in  the  age  of  King  Charles  the  '  First.' » 
2 


CHAPTER    III. 

CHEISTMAS    AT    KINGWOOD. 

IT  was  the  happy  time  of  Christmas,  and  Charles  Bran- 
don was  once  again  at  Kingwood,  to  spend  the  holidays. 
From  the  snowy  and  frozen  regions  of  the  north, 
where  winter  reigned  supreme,  and  kindly  threw  over 
the  earth  a  mantle,  more  pure,  more  delicate,  and  beauti- 
ful than  the  ermine  of  princes ;  gave  the  hills  new  shapes 
of  splendor ;  changed  the  forest  recesses  into  the  marble 
pillared  isles  of  Gothic  cathedrals ;  and,  with  magic  touch 
transformed  every  stream  and  brook,  into  glittering  icy 
archways, — went  the  youth  to  the  sunny  south,  bright 
still  as  in  summer  days.  Though  the  trees  were  stripped 
of  leaves,  a  soft  wind,  like  the  breath  of  spring,  breathed 
through  their  branches,  the  turf  was  yet  green,  roses 
bloomed  in  the  open  air  beside  the  house,  the  James  still 
flowed  on,  and  the  little  brook  still  ran  through  the 
wood,  sweetly  singing. 

Christmas  at  Kingwood  was  always  kept  in  noble  style, 
and  after  the  fashion  of  Mr.  Brandon's  ancestors ;  all  the 
gentry  of  the  neighborhood  and  of  Williamsburg  were 
invited,  and  were  generally  happy  to  repair  to  his  hospi- 
table mansion. 

It  was  Christmas  day,  high  revel  was  decreed  at  the 
Hall,  and  the  guests  were  now  arriving  in  rapid  succession. 
As  the  carriages  drove  under  the  gateway  of  the  port- 
er's lodge,  half  a  mile  from  the  mansion,  a  group  of 
negroes  assembled  ther-e,  all  on  the  grin  of  delight, 
to  throw  the  gate  wide  open  for  the  approaching  vehi- 

(26) 


CHRISTMAS   AT   KINGWOOD.  27 

cles,  and  then  cluster  on  it  like  monkeys,  for  a  swing,  as 
it  shut  to  after  them. 

Now  came  a  blue  chariot,  and  now  a  green  one, 
and  next,  one  oi  violet  color,  followed  by  a  modest, 
dark-lined  equipage,  which  was  succeeded  in  its  turn  by 
a  superb  crimson  coach  and  four  bay  horses,  bearing  in 
the  proudest  style,  almost  in  regal  state,  the  governor 
of  the  realm,  Robert  Dinwiddie.  No  matter  who  came, 
proud  as  princes  though  they  might  be,  a  running  fire 
of  comment  was  kept  up  by  the  negroes,  who  agreed 
that  no  equipage  in  the  whole  number  was  worthy  to 
be  named  with  mas'r's.  They  were  nearly  struck  dumb 
with  wonder,  at  the  stylish  yellow  carriage,  looking 
bright  as  the  sun  itself,  and  drawn  on  this  occasion  by  six 
black  steeds,  dashing  fire  from  their  heels,  whirled  through 
the  portal,  with  Mr.  John  Robinson,  the  speaker  of  the 
House  of  Burgesses,  who  had  been  sent  for  by  Mr.  Brandon. 

Some  of  the  visitors  would  not  have  been  much  pleased 
with  the  remarks  of  the  sable  crew,  had  they  heard 
them.  "  De  lors !  here  comes  ole  Mr.  Parchmount,"  said 
one;  "he's  bound  to  come,  certin',  say  he  neber  stays 
home  Christmas,  fear  of  his  niggers'  eatin'  too  much, 
neber  gives  'em  nuffin  but  corn  cake  all  de  year  roun. 
Wonder  what  for  mas'r  'vites  him?"  And  now  came 
another,  an  open  vehicle,  drawn  by  two  beautiful  dapple 
grey  horses,  and  in  which  sat  a  large,  haiighty  looking 
woman,  accompanied  by  a  young  girl  of  singularly  bril- 
liant complexion  and  beauty,  who  bowed  very  sweetly  to 
the  attendant  squad,  while  the  elder  took  no  notice  of 
them,  but  maintained  an  unmoved  countenance.  "  Ole 
Misses  Estcourt  and  young  Miss  Blanche ;  she's  one  of 
de  hard  sort,  tell  ye  now,  wouldn't  like  to  say  she  owned 
dis  nigger,"  said  Jim,  the  spokesman  of  the  party,  who 
had  criticised  Mr.  Parchmount's  domestic  economy. 


28  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   TEARS  AGO. 

"She  com'n  to  live  here,  tho',"  said  Tom,  another 
dusky  speaker,  "  de  house  keeper  'low'd  Mas'r  Oharles 
and  Miss  Blanche  git  married  one  of  dese  days." 

"  Oh,  you  shet  up  wid  your  jaw,"  retorted  Jim,  "  what 
de  debil  you  know  bout  it ;  tink  Mas'r  Charles  can't  do 
nobetter'n  dat?" 

"  Reckon  I  knows,  much  'bout  it  as  you  does,"  rejoined 
Tom,  "  my  'pinion  is —  " 

"  Oh  jest  shet  up  wid  your  'pinions,  or  git  some  un  to 
tote  you  'way  from  here ;  your'se  allors  makin  yourself 
a  fool  wid  your  'pinions.  Such  a  nigger  as  you  is,  aint 
got  no  right  to  have  no  'pinions.  You  aint  fit  to  'sociate 
no  how  wid  likes  'o  us ;  you'se  wus  den  seven  year  itch, 
you  is ;  does  you  eber  wash  yourself?" 

"  Ob  course  I  does,"  said  the  enraged  Tom,  proceeding 
angrily  to  vindicate  his  standing  in  good  society,  when  a 
fight  might  have  ensued,  had  not  the  door  of  the  porter's 
lodge  opened,  and  its  grey  headed  occupant  appeared 
whip  in  hand. 

"  Clar  out,  you  niggers,"  he  shouted,  cracking  the  lash  at 
them,  "  clar  out,  and  lem'me  tend  de  gate  alone,"  and  with 
that  off  they  scampered  leaving  the  next  comers  unscathed. 

Now  the  great  house  was  full  of  company,  and  in  every 
room  the  huge  fire  place  was  filled  with  blazing  hickory ; 
the  stables  were  filled  to  suffocation  with  neighing  steeds ; 
the  outbuildings  were  merry  with  a  crowd  of  servants, 
belonging  to  the  visitors,  carousing  to  their  heart's 
content,  and  making  love  to  all  the  young  blackeys  of  the 
establishment ;  the  kitchens  were  all  aglow  with  mighty 
fires,  and  the  processes  of  roasting,  stewing,  baking  and 
boiling;  the  atmosphere  was  hazy  with  the  eddies  of 
steam,  curling  up  from  hot  dishes;  cross  cooks  were 
perspiring  with  their  tremendous  labors,  and  scolding 
the  servants  at  a  fearful  rate,  as  it  was  nigh  the  dinner 


CHRISTMAS   AT  KING  WOOD.  29 

hour,  for  which  in  the  opinion  of  cooks  in  general,  all 
other  hours  have  been  created. 

Mr.  Brandon,  fond  of  company,  was  now  prepared  to 
do  the  honors  of  his  house,  with  hearty  good  will.  Arrayed 
in  a  style  which  he  thought  becoming  to  the  master  of 
such  a  domain,  certainly  he  presented  the  look  of  a  high 
bred  gentleman  hi  the  costume  of  that  age.  He  wore  on 
tin's  occasion,  a  plum  colored  coat  of  rich  velvet,  with 
large  sleeves,  embroidered  flaps,  and  huge  silver  buttons, 
breeches  of  the  same  material,  and  a  waistcoat  extravagant- 
ly long,  of  bright  flowered  silk,  relieved  by  a  shirt  frill  of 
delicate  lace ;  pearl  colored  silk  stockings  fitted  into  high 
shoes,  clasped  with  enormous  diamond  buckles ;  and  the 
costume  was  completed  by  a  well  curled  and  powdered 
wig,  terminated  by  the  nicely  ribboned  queue.  Mr.  Bran- 
don received  all  his  guests  with  elegant  courtesy,  put 
them  at  ease  with  a  word,  and  offered  to  one  or  the  other 
a  pinch  of  finely  scented  snuff  from  a  handsome  French 
box,  which  he  prided  himself  on  handling  gracefully.  His 
wife  was  not  less  distinguished  in  costume,  magnificently 
attired  in  a  flowing  robe  of  green  velvet,  jewels  sparkled 
on  her  white  arms  and  neck,  and  her  serene  brow  was 
crowned  by  a  circlet  of  emeralds. 

A  brilliant  assembly  of  talent,  wealth,  and  beauty,  was 
gathered  under  that  hospitable  roof;  and,  while  pausing 
awhile  in  the  library,  before  seating  themselves  at  the 
festive  board,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  mention  the  names  of 
a  few  persons,  shining  "  a  hundred  years  ago,"  among  the 
proudest  and  most  celebrated  of  the  Virginia  aristocracy. 
That  race,  reared  in  all  the  luxury  of  an  age  when  the 
kingly  prerogative  was  as  yet  undisputed,  and  the  regime 
of  manners  partook  of  the  dignity  of  a  court,  has  passed 
away  forever ;  but  many  tender  and  beautiful  'associations 
cling  to  the  memory  of  that  time. 


30  BRANDON  ;    OR,    A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

"  You  are  welcome  to  my  house,  and  a  merry  Christ- 
mas may  this  prove  to  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brandon  to  a 
fine-looking  young  man  who  had  just  entered.  It  was 
George  Wythe,  subsequently  one  of  the  noblest  of  Vir- 
ginia's great  men,  then  in  the  flower  of  his  youth,  who 
had  but  of  late  abandoned  habits  of  idleness  and  dissipa- 
tion, which  had  enthralled  him  to  the  age  of  thirty  years, 
when  for  ever  casting  aside  slothful  and  pernicious 
courses,  his  high  abilities,  graced  by  varied  accomplish- 
ments, began  to  give  promise  of  distinction. 

Immediately  beside  him  figured  one,  later  in  life  his 
great  rival  at  the  bar  and  in  the  House  of  Burgesses ;  this 
was  Edmund  Pendleton.  He  too  was  young,  but  already 
noticed.  His  slight,  well-shaped  frame,  moved  with 
grace,  and  those  pleased  with  the  expression  of  his  manly, 
thoughtful  face,  were  more  charmed  when  he  spoke,  by 
his  fascinating  manners,  the  silvery  voice  which  always 
characterized  him,  and  the  elegant  tact  of  his  address.  In 
another  part  of  the  room,  talking  with  Mrs.  Brandon  and 
her  son,  stood  Peyton  Randolph;  at  that  period  but 
thirty-two  years  of  age,  but  already  the  king's  attorney, 
a  position  which  he  had  held  from  his  twenty-fifth  year, 
standing  next  in  dignity  to  the  speaker  of  the  House  of 
Burgesses  himself,  Mr.  John  Robinson,  who  having  ar- 
rived hi  the  coach  and  six,  now  on  entering  was  marked 
as  indeed 

"  The  observed  of  all  observers." 

Even  Mr.  Brandon  acknowledged  a  superior  in  rank,  in 
the  speaker.  He  was  the  chief  subject  of  the  crown 
in  the  Old  Dominion,  the  leader  of  the  provincial  aris- 
tocracy, and  in  influence  far  more  powerful  than  the  gov- 
ernor of  the  realm.  The  "  arbiter  elegantiarum  "  of  the 
Virginia  nobility,  his  immense  wealth  enabled  him  to  sup- 


CHRISTMAS   AT   KINGWOOD.  31 

port  his  position  with  becoming  grandeur.  He  was 
fondly  attached  to  royalty,  to  the  forms  and  ceremonies 
of  the  English  government ;  but  the  splendors  of  state 
never  dazzled  his  good  judgment,  nor  chilled  his  warm 
heart :  the  rich  honored  him,  and  the  poor  always  found 
in  him  sure  friendship  and  generous  aid. 

"  Good  day  to  you,  my  excellent  young  friend,"  said 
Mr.  Robinson,  turning  to  one  not  less  distinguished  than 
any  before  mentioned,  to  Richard  Henry  Lee ;  "it  is 
pleasant  to  meet  so  many  friends  in  this  noble  hall.  Have 
you  seen  aught  of  Beverly  ?" 

"Please  you,  sir,"  replied  Lee,  "we  came  together, 
and  Wythe,  Pendleton,  and  Randolph  accompanied  us. 
Your  son  is  somewhere  in  the  room,  but  in  such  a 
throng— ah !  observe  him  now,  in  the  recess  of  yonder 
window;  he  is  well  engaged,  I  fancy,  with  the  beauty 
who  bears  away  the  palm  to-day.  See,  he  is  with 
Blanche  Estcourt." 

"  So  I  now  perceive.  Well,  let  him  resist  her  if  he 
can ;  she  is,  indeed,  lovely.  You  must  yourself  beware, 
and  do  not  let  me  hear  that  you  and  Beverly  are  to  call 
each  other  out,  in  sheer  jealousy." 

"  Oh !  have  no  fear  of  me,  sir.  I  love  not,  although  I 
play  the  Romeo,  and  from  a  distance  look  upon  that 
beauty  which 

"  Hangs  upon  the  cheek  of  night 
Like  a  rich  jewel  in  an  Ethiop's  ear." 

"  A  good  description,  upon  my  faith.  But  was  Juliet 
a  brunette  like  Blanche,  with  her  passionate  glow  in  com- 
plexion ?  See  those  eyes,  their  light  shines  even  on  me, 
old  as  I  am,  like  stars  in  a  midsummer  night's  dream.  I 
too,  Master  Lee  have  not  forgotten  Shakespeare.  I  must 
warn  Beverly." 


32  BEANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

"  Do  so  in  good  time,  clear  sir,  or  he  is  lost.  There  is 
no  chance  for  him,  though,  as  I  opine,  our  young  host, 
Charles  Brandon,  is  the  knight  elect." 

"  It  is  indeed  so !  I  had  imagined  that  such  a  connec- 
tion would  accord  with  the  ambitious  views  of  Mistress 
Mildred  Estcourt,  but  cannot  imagine  that  it  would  please 
Mrs.  Brandon." 

"  Nor  do  I  believe  that  it  ever  will.  Again,  I  know 
that  Charles  is  not  in  love  with  her,  but  think  the  lady," — 

"  A  little  touched,  eh  ?" 

"As  you  say,  sir.  I  presume  her  mother  would  be 
anything  but  acceptable  to  the  Brandons." 

"  Or  to  any  body  else,  I  should  suppose ;  proud,  haughty 
spirit,  to  me  she  is  insufferable." 

"  You  are  not  singular,  Mr.  Robinson,  in  your  dislike. 
What  strange  stories  are  whispered  of  her,  too ;  do  you 
credit  them  ?" 

"  I  neither  believe  them,  nor  entirely  reject  them ;  but 
I  pay  no  attention  to  such  things.  I  make  it  a  rule,  Mr. 
Lee,  and  as  you  are  a  young  man,  I  tell  you  of  it,  that  it 
may  save  you  some  trouble  in  life ; — it  is  a  rule  with  me 
I  say,  never  to  give  heed  to  the  mere  tattle  and  gossip 
of  company.  One  who  thus  busies  himself,  will  soon 
have  little  time  for  more  important  matters.  Many  a 
heartache  is  saved  by  one  who  suffers  the  points  of  such 
Liliputian  arrows  to  fall  blunted  from  the  breastplate  of 
indifference." 

"  True  sir,  but  Lady  Mildred  Estcourt's  darts  are  of  no 
Liliputian  order  ;  they  rather  belong  to  Brobdignag." 

"  Then  I  should  endeavor  to  avoid  her.  But  indeed, 
her  pride  and  insolence  make  her  ridiculous!  I  could 
scarce  forbear  laughing,  a  short  time  since,  when  I  was 
looking  with  her,  at  Sir  William  Brandon's  portrait. 
'  The  family  are  proud  of  it,'  said  she,  '  but  what  can  their 


CHRISTMAS  AT  KINGWOOD.  33 

regard  for  him,  be  compared  with  mine  for  my  illustrious 
grandsire,  Sir  Robert  Cecil?  I  have  always  regretted 
that  I  did  not  make  Mr.  Estcourt  change  his  name  on 
marrying  me.  It  is  a  great  honor  to  be  connected  with 
a  Cecil.'  But  here  comes  Mrs.  Brandon.  She  is  a  lovely 
mother,  and  Governor  Dinwiddie  looks  delighted  with 
her." 

"My  dear  Mr.  Lee,"  said  Mrs.  Brandon,  "you  can 
doubtless  help  me,  and  so  can  Mr.  Robinson.  His  excel- 
lency and  I  have  had  a  warm  discussion,  and  I  have  been 
defending  your  friend  George  Washington.  Governor 
Dinwiddie,  I  find,  will  not  agree  with  me,  that  his  cour- 
age and  conduct  at  Braddock's  massacre  last  July,  were 
entitled  to  as  much  regard  as  I  consider  his  due.  I  want 
aid  from  the  colonel's  friends,  to  overpower  the  gover- 
nor's scruples." 

"Not  fair,  madam,  not  fair,"  answered  Dinwiddie. 
"  I  protest  against  this.  How  can  I  possibly  accord  more 
to  the  young  hero  than  I  have.  Surely  I  have  often  told 
how  he  won  my  good  will  from  the  first  hour  I  saw  him, 
when  he  brought  me  an  introductory  letter." 

"  Then,  sir,  you  should  have  been  more  enthusiastic  in 
my  house  to-day.  Remember  there  is  no  chill  by  a 
Christmas  fire,  and  your  stately  encomium  of  my  young 
Achilles,  should  have  been  exchanged  for  glib  praise.  I 
shall  pardon  you,  however,  if  you  will  promise  for  the 
remainder  of  the  day  to  bestow  only  the  most  honied 
words  on  any  friend  I  mention." 

"Indeed  I  will,  dear  madam,"  said  Dinwiddie,  not 
sorry,  perhaps,  to  escape  so  easily,  for  it  was  whispered 
that  he  regarded  Washington's  rising  greatness  rather 
unfavorably. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Lee,"  continued  Mrs.  Brandon,  "  can  you 
tell  us  aught  of  the  colonel." 
2* 


34          BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

"  Very  little,  indeed,  madam.  I  have  not  heard  from 
him  for  some  time ;  and,  in  truth,  when  I  do  hear  any- 
thing from  him  or  the  army  I  am  filled  with  pain,  as  it 
always  renews  my  bitter  disappointment  at  General 
Braddock's  refusal  to  allow  me  a  position  on  his  staff.  I 
should  then  have  fought  by  George's  side,  and  won 
laurels  too." 

"  Or  more  likely  been  shot  as  Braddock  was,"  said 
the  governor.  "  You  are  much  better  off  here,  believe 
me." 

"  Ah,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Brandon,  "  I  should  have  had 
to  deplore  another  dear  friend,  and  this  Christmas  would 
have  been  too  sad  indeed." 

"  Now,  Lee,"  said  Speaker  Robinson,  "  I  would  rather 
have  that  said  to  me  than  be  a  field  marshal.  You 
must  come  to  the  House  of  Burgesses  for  your  laurels  j  I 
will  care  for  you  there." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  I  mean  to  go  there ;  and  thank  you, 
madam.  It  would  greatly  add  to  our  pleasure  if  Colonel 
Washington  could  be  with  us  to-day." 

"Indeed,  Mr.  Brandon  and  I  hoped  until  lately  that  he 
would.  But  it  seems  he  has  escaped  death  in  the  field  to 
^become  a  prisoner." 

"  A  prisoner,  madam,"  said  Robinson,  "  you  astound 
me ! " 

"Only  to  Love,  a  jailor  who  cannot  bribed.  He  is 
fast  in  the  power  of  that  wicked  widow,  Martha  Custis." 

"  Then  his  doom  is  sealed  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  lady ;  "  but  come,  the  dinner  waits, 
and  you  shall  pledge  him  at  the  feast.  Governor,  your 
hand,"  and  Dinwiddie,  with  a  profound  bow,  led  Mrs. 
Brandon  forth  to  the  banquet,  and  all  the  guests  followed 
in  due  order. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

INSIGHT. 

THE  festivities  at  Kingwood  were  to  continue  for 
several  days,  and  there  appeared  to  be  no  end  to  the 
amusements.  Some  of  the  guests  rode,  some  took  daily 
enjoyment  in  a  fox  hunt,  others  played  at  tennis  ball,  or 
lounged  in  the  library,  while  some  made  the  best  of  their 
time  in  flirtation.  Brilliant  was  the  daily  dinner,  but  far 
more  enjoyed  the  revelry  in  the  evenings.  There  was 
dancing,  begun  solemnly  by  stately  minuets,  followed  by 
livelier  saltations  and  fun  among  the  young  people,  who, 
ransacking  ancient  wardrobes,  collected  costumes  in 
which  they  played  the  parts  of  mummers.  Good  old 
games  were  revived  with  spirit,  and  who  was  not  de- 
lighted to  take  part  in  that  most  delicious  chase,  whose 
reward  lurked  in  the  sparkle  of  bright  eyes,  and  was 
sweet  in  a  kiss  under  the  mistletoe ! 

Dayton,  Randolph,  Wythe,  Lee,  Charles  Brandon,  and 
others,  with  some  fair  assistants,  on  one  of  the  evenings 
presented  to  the  company  the  Masque  of  Comus.  Al- 
though the  performers  had  but  a  short  time  for  rehearsal, 
the  guests  declared  their  efforts  entirely  successful,  and 
the  heart  of  John  Milton  would  doubtless  have  rejoiced 
could  he  have  been  present.  The  part  of  the  "  Lady  " 
was  admirably  personified  by  Blanche  Estcourt,  who 
won  the  rapturous  applause  of  every  guest,  as  her  haughty 
mother  perceived  with  a  pride  which  she  could  not  con- 
ceal. 

Three  gentlemen,  seated  together,  had  watched  the 
progress  of  the  masque,  and  at  its  close,  one  of  them, 
(36) 


36  BRANDON  ;    OB,  A  HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

Governor  Dinwiddie,  turned  to  Mr.  Parchmount  the 
Saving,  and  observed, 

"  I  hope  this  has  made  you  feel  better  to-night,  sir." 

"  No,  sir,  quite  the  contrary ;  I  have  not  yet  recovered 
from  the  effects  of  that  peacock  pie  of  which  I  eat  so 
inordinately  at  dinner  on  Christmas  day." 

"Ah,  you  are  punished,"  said  Speaker  Robinson,  on 
the  other  side  of  Mr.  Parchmount ;  "  it  was  wrong  in  you 
to  destroy  so  noble  a  specimen  of  the  cook's  skill.  Upon 
my  honor  I  thought,  at  first,  it  was  a  live  bird  which  had 
just  spread  its  plumage  preparatory  to  strutting  the 
length  of  the  table." 

"How  beautiful  it  was!"  sighed  out  Parchmount. 

"  Worthy  of  the  famous  Vatel  himself,"  said  Dinwiddie. 

"  Really !  and  had  the  great  authority  on  the  laws  of 
nations,  the  same  fondness  I  have  for  peacock  pie?" 

"  Perhaps  so,  Mr.  Parchmount ;  but  I  was  referring  to 
another,  a  much  greater  man.  I  mean  the  cook  to  the 
noble  Conde ;  he  who  killed  himself — hero  that  he  was — 
because  the  sea-fish  which  he  was  to  dress  for  the  king's 
dinner,  did  not  come  in  time." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  now  remember ;  and  do  you  indeed  esteem 
him  the  greater  man?"  said  the  dry  lawyer,  to  whom 
the  comprehension  of  a  jest  was  impossible. 

"  Decidedly.    They  worship  his  memory  in  France." 

"  But  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Parchmount,"  pursued  Robinson, 
not  unwilling  to  have  a  little  fun  with  one  whose  economy 
and  obtuseness  were  proverbial,  "I  am  afraid  that  you 
are  suffering  not  only  from  the  peacock,  who  is  now 
avenged,  but  that  certain  large  slices  of  beef  lie  heavy  on 
your  conscience.  The  governor  and  I  observed  that 
*  the  baron,'  weighing  three  or  four  hundred  pounds  at 
the  commencement  of  the  feast,  was  much  curtailed  in 
proportion  before  it  ended.  Did  we  not,  Mr.  Dinwiddie  ?'» 


INSIGHT.  37 

"  Certainly,  we  could  not  help  noticing  it ;  and  I  par- 
ticularly remarked,  also,  that  after  the  boar's  head  was 
brought  in,  and  Mr.  Brandon  had  given  the  '  caput  apri 
defero'  in  such  grand  style,  that  Mr.  Parchraount  kept  a 
sharp  eye  on  the  dish." 

"Then,"  said  the  speaker,  "it  is  easy  to  fathom  its 
disappearance.  I  looked  for  a  morsel,  but  it  was  invisible. 
And  to  think,  too,  of  the  amount  of  wassail,  the  best  I 
have  ever  tasted,  which  went  to  keep  company  with  the 
boar's  head,  and  the  baron,  and  the  peacock !  It  is  no 
wonder  that  Parchmount's  memory  of  all  these  good 
things  is  so  active  that  he  cannot  sleep." 

"True,"  returned  Dinwiddie,  "and  the  only  way  in 
which  our  friend  can  repent  of  his  sins,  is  to  keep  open 
house  next  Christmas,  invite  us  all,  and  pay  the  piper. 
But,  to  change  the  subject,; — the  Gorgon  again  turns  her 
eyes  upon  us  ;  why,  I  wonder  ? " — and  the  governor 
returned  the  stare  of  Mildred  Estcourt,  seated  on  the 
other  side  of  the  room. 

"I  will  inform  you,"  said  Parchmount,  who  bore  rail- 
lery about  feasting  well  enough,  but  who  dreaded  a  hint 
that  he  should  entertain  in  his  turn ;  "  she  is  looking 
chiefly  at  me,  knowing  that  I  am  a  partner  of  Mi*.  Redtape. 
She  hates  him  cordially,  and  no  doubt  imagines  that  we 
are  talking  about  her." 

"Why  does  she  hate  Mr.  Redtape?"  asked  Speaker 
Robinson. 

"Oh,  you  doubtless  can  imagine,"  answered  Parch- 
mount. "  It  is  about  that  everlasting  will  which  Redtape 
lias  hunted  for  so  long;  he  thinks  it  will  one  day  be 
found,  and  deprive  her  of  her  property." 

"  Nonsense ! "  said  Robinson,  "  he  might  as  well  give 
up  the  search;  it  will  never  be  found ;  she  has  destroyed 
it,  I  will  warrant.  She  has  had  the  estate  for  fourteen 


38    BRANDON  ;  OR,  A  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 

years ;  and,  to  one  like  her,  such  possession  is  more  than 
nine  points  of  the  law.  But  silence  now,  here  comes  her 
daughter  Blanche ;  she  is  about  to  dance  with  Charles 
Brandon." 

Vain  would  be  the  enthusiast's  hacknied  phrases,  to 
describe  the  loveliness  of  Blanche ;  the  dark  brown  hair, 
the  soul-lit  eyes,  the  luscious  lips,  the  glowing  cheek! 
— Away  with  these. 

Rather  tell  of  some  ideal,  some  impassioned  beauty 
which  Spain  or  Italy  alone  might  body  forth  in  their 
glorious  women,  or  such  as  haunt  forever  the  memory  of 
those  once  fascinated  by  the  creations  of  Titian.  Though 
her  stature  was  not  tall,  Blanche's  symmetrical  figure  was 
moulded  to  a  voluptuous  outline ;  the  full  contour  of  her 
shoulders  and  arms  contrasted  richly  with  the  dark  dress 
she  wore,  and  were  enhanced  by  the  gems  which  burned 
upon  her  person. 

Her  motions  which  seemed  not  obedient  to  the  music 
but  to  control  its  strain,  drew  the  fixed  gaze  of  the  as- 
sembly, and  more  than  one  that  evening  felt  assured  that 
she  was  the  destined  bride  of  Charles  Brandon,  the  future 
queen  of  Kingwood. 

"  Mr.  Lee,"  said  Speaker  Robinson,  "  what  a  splendid 
creature  is  Blanche.  Why  do  you  not  find  out  in  half  an 
hour,  as  you  can,  how  her  heart  beats,  and  love  her  if  she 
will  let  you." 

"  I  have  done  so,  sir,  already  as  I  told  you  before,  but 
excuse  me,  Mr.  Robinson,  if  I  imagine  that  your  anxiety 
is  less  on  my  account,  than  for  Beverly." 

Robinson  smiled.  "You  have  made  a  home  thrust, 
Mr.  Lee ;  indeed  you  have  found  me  out.  I  did  feel  some 
interest  for  my  son,  as  to-day  I  have  seen  him  less  with 
the  lady  than  usual,  and  I  was  fearful  that  he  might  have 
met  a  rebuff." 


INSIGHT.  39 

"  Oh  do  not  be  alarmed,  sir,  he  never  went  so  far,  he 
is  merely  amusing  himself.  Do  you  not  know  that  a  lady 
at  the  north,  in  the  Highlands  of  the  New  York  Colony, 
is  the  real  one  who  has  bewitched  him? — But  now 
Blanche  is  alone,  and  I  will  venture  to  approach  her." 

"Bright  Miss  Estcourt,"  said  the  gallant  Lee,  "do 
you  know  how  many  hearts  you  have  broken  this  evening, 
what  mischief  you  have  done  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  nor  do  I  imagine  that  I  have  marred  the 
pleasure  of  any  one.  I  thought  you  at  least  would  do  me 
better  justice,  and  give  me  a  name  for  healing  spirits 
instead  of  wounding  them." 

"  I  thought  only  of  Charles  Brandon,  and  myself,  and 
judged  accordingly." 

"  Then  be  less  selfish  and  think  rather  more  of  others. 
Nobody  looks  injured  that  I  can  see." 

"  Charles  is  disconsolate." 

"  Is  he  ?  then  I  must  have  been  very  dull,  for  I  tried  my 
best  to  please  him." 

"How  so?     Let  me  be  your  confidant." 

"  I  made  him  happy  as  you  ought  to  be  at  this  moment, 
by  permitting  him  to  talk  to  me." 

"  But  something  added  would  make  me  happier." 

"  What  would  you  have  then  ?" 

"  To  profess  to  make  love  to  you.  Come,  for  a  little 
amusement  now." 

"  I  shall  permit  no  such  thing,  sir.  I  prefer  sincerity, 
and  he  who  makes  love  to  me,  must  be  in  earnest." 

"  Then  may  I  not  essay,  my  dear  Miss  Estcourt  ?" 

"  To  relieve  you  at  once,  Mr.  Lee,  I  must  tell  you,  no ! 
You  are  so  universal  a  favorite,  that  it  would  be  a  pity  to 
devote  yourself  to  me,  and  gain  nothing  by  it." 

"  Well,  I  have  not  been  very  serious,  have  I  ?" 

"  No,  and  you  have  pleased  me  better  than  if  you  had 


40  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

been.    I  did  not  come  to  Kingwood,  for  any  serious  con- 
versation, or  purpose." 

"  Did  you  not  ?    I  am  sure  Charles  Brandon  will  regret 

that." 

Blanche  slightly  colored ;  a  blush  that  did  not  escape 
Lee's  quick  eye. 

"Upon  rny  faith,  sir,  you  are  grown  bold,  and  you 
could  scarce  speak  more  plainly  if  I  really  felt  a  deep 
interest  in  your  friend." 

"  Pardon  me,  Lady  Blanche,  but  I  thought  to-night 
during  the  Masque,  when  you  were  seated  in  the  magic 
chair,  that  you  had  changed  places  with  Charles  as  Comus ; 
that  he  was  spell-bound  and  you  were  the  enchantress." 

"Very  poetical  indeed,  but  I  always  punish  any  one 
who  pays  me  compliments.  Do  you  see  that  same  chair 
across  the  room  ?  Now  go  and  seat  yourself  in  it,  for 
five  minutes,  and  do  not  speak  a  word.  Consider  it  the 
stool  of  repentance.  I  must  join  my  mother." 

Lee,  in  his  own  mind,  as  others  did,  felt  assured  that 
some  tender  passages  had  occurred  between  his  friend 
Charles  and  Blanche.  Both  young,  rich,  handsome,  roman- 
tic, with  kindred  tastes,  why  should  they  not  be  united  ? 

Two  reasons  had  for  some  time  been  whispered  against 
such  a  union ;  one,  that  Blanche's  own  health  would 
probably  forbid  her  ever  marrying  at  all ;  that  the  glow 
of  her  complexion  was  the  fatal  hectic  tinge  foretelling 
decay,  that  she  was  probably  destined  to  follow  her  father 
to  an  early  grave.  The  other,  and  perhaps  more  serious 
reason  urged,  that  no  one  however  rich  or  powerful,  would 
care  to  be  connected  with  a  woman  of  Mildred  Estcourt's 
disposition,  lovely  as  her  daughter  was.  There  was  a 
nameless  something  in  the  mother,  which  inspired  distrust 
and  dread,  and  such  feeling  evidently  affected  the  lot  of 
the  daughter. 


INSIGHT*.  41 

Blanche  was  now  about  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  had 
lost  her  father  very  early  in  life.  She  was  winning  and 
beloved ;  her  mother  repulsive  and  hated.  Mildred  Est- 
court,  "  Lady  Mildred,"  as  she  was  generally  styled  not 
in  her  own  hearing,  was  as  unlike  Blanche  in  person  and 
disposition  as  a  mother  could  be.  She  was  of  large  com- 
manding figure,  erect,  haughty,  proud  in  step,  with  a 
harsh  voice  whose  every  word  was  law.  In  her  face  one 
read  command,  high  temper,  selfish  purpose.  Conceit,  its 
greatest  weakness,  was  relieved  by  indomitable  energy 
and  remorseless  will.  From  her  firm  clenched  mouth  no 
smile  of  the  soul  ever  broke,  it  was  altogether  mechani- 
cal; a  brow  seamed  with  thought;  cold,  stony,  material 
eyes,  her  whole  countenance  indicated  insatiate  but  baf- 
fled ambition.  Such  was  this  woman,  without  one  reli- 
gious principle,  though  an  ascetic  in  speech,  a  bigot  in 
creed,  a  Pharisee  of  the  Pharisees,  but  ruled  solely  by 
the  dictates  of  a  heart  which  might  have  been  a  com- 
pound of  ice  and  iron. 

With  the  pride  of  Lucifer  she  dwelt  on  the  stately 
magnificence  of  her  grandsire,  a  distinguished  statesman 
in  the  reigns  of  Charles  II.  and  his  ignominious  brother ; 
but  her  own  father's  memory  was  almost  despised,  because 
he  had  left  England,  preferring  the  safety  and  happiness 
of  life  in  America  to  the  uncertain  favor  of  princes. 

The  great  statesman's  domestic  traits  were  said  to  have 
resembled  those  of  his  grand-daughter ;  and  though  his 
unkindness  to  his  son  probably  helped  to  expatriate  him, 
yet  Mildred  so  worshipped  him,  and  imagined  all  the 
world  must,  that  she  considered  nothing  due  from  her 
to  society,  no  effort  to  be  kind  or  courteous,  but  rather 
that  society  won  a  transcendent  honor  by  her  slight- 
est notice  of  it.  She  had  contrived  so  singularly  and 
studiedly  to  offend  those  best  disposed  towards  her, 


42  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

so  pertinaciously  had  she  affronted  every  human  being 
who  dared  even  to  assert  independence  in  opinion, 
that,  though  still  in  the  prime  of  life,  the  name  of  her 
enemies  was  legion.  She  never  hesitated  to  wreak  upon 
the  purest  and  gentlest,  invective  and  epithets  bitter  as 
language  contained ;  yet,  as  we  have  before  mentioned, 
her  greatest  weakness,  conceit,  while  it  caused  her  to 
wonder  at  her  own  isolation,  consoled  her  with  the  belief 
that  she  was  a  being  of  such  superior  order,  as  to  be  be- 
yond the  comprehension  of  ordinary  mortals.  But,  as 
years  rolled  on,  she  became  more  and  more  shunned  and 
detested,  her  schemes  for  power,  increase  of  wealth,  for  a 
second  marriage,  failed  one  by  one ;  her  beauty  which 
she  once  possessed  departed,  her  brow  contracted,  and 
she  was  left  a  prey  to  rage  and  envy,  to  unpitied  misery, 
fast  settling  into  despair. 

We  have  seen  her  as  she  drove  beneath  the  gateway, 
when  the  aspect  of  the  stately  domain  broke  upon  her  in 
all  its  grandeur. 

"Look,  Blanche,"  she  said  aloud, then  vowed  in  secret, 
"this  at  least  I  will  move  heaven  and  earth  to  make 
thine." 

No  thought  of  her  daughter's  true  happiness  crossed 
her  scheming  brain  at  that  moment ;  had  Charles  Bran- 
don been  a  libertine  or  a  sot,  the  same  resolve  would 
have  taken  fixed  possession  of  her.  She .  wanted  power, 
could  she  gain  it — the  real  welfare  of  her  daughter 
(whom  indeed  she  professed  to  love,  and  probably  did, 
next  to  herself,)  was  of  slight  moment.  She  could  not 
mano3uvre,  plan,  or  plot,  even  for  Blanche  alone ;  she  her- 
self was  to  be  elevated  to  the  pinnacle  of  greatness ;  her 
own  child  might  be  near,  but  still  must  be  a  step  beneath 
her.  "  With  Blanche  wedded  to  Charles,"  she  thought, 
"I  shall  soon  be  the  mistress  here.  I  know  his  easy 


INSIGHT.  43 

temper ;  he  will  wear  his  fetters  lightly :  his  mother's  too 
docile  spirit  cannot  contend  with  mine,  and  as  to  his 
father— but  we  shall  see,  we  shall  see." 

With  an  art  which  she  could  easily  command,  the  Lady 
Mildred  now  assumed  a  sweetness  of  demeanor  truly 
captivating,  which  half  induced  some  to  think  that  all 
the  reports  they  had  heard  of  her  were  but  malicious 
libels ;  yet  even  here  at  times  her  imperious  nature  broke 
its  bonds.  Meanwhile  the  two  innocent  subjects  of  her 
plans  were,  with  nice  tact,  thrown  frequently  together ; 
the  hign-souled  romantic  Blanche  was  soon  touched  Avith 
tender  passion  apparent  enough  to  every  beholder,  and, 
though  Charles  was  not  exclusive  in  his  attentions  to  her, 
her  voice  still  sounded  sweetest  in  his  ears,  nor  did  her 
lovely  vision  leave  him  even  in  his  dreams. 


CHAPTEK   V. 

A   WARNING. 

THE  company  departed  from  Kingwood,  and  Charles 
prepared  to  return  at  once  to  the  north.  Lady  Mildred 
and  Blanche  lingered  latest  of  the  guests,  and  when  they 
had  gone,  the  great  house  was  left  in  quiet  to^its  pro- 
prietors. 

How  the  mother  and  daughter  felt  in  parting  from  the 
Brandons,  tune  will  unfold  to  us ;  the  last  glance  which 
Blanche  gave  Charles  as  the  carriage  moved  away,  had  a 
deep  meaning  hi  it  which  Mildred  instantly  perceived, 
and  it  sufficed  to  keep  her  absorbed  for  some  time  in 
deep  thought. 

Charles  watched  the  retreating  chariot  until  it  was  no 
longer  visible,  and  the  sound  of  its  wheels  had  died  away, 
when  he  walked  down  to  the  porter's  lodge,  vainly  hoping 
to  obtain  one  more  glimpse  of  it. 

At  the  gateway  he  encountered  an  odd  specimen  of 
humanity,  of  whom  he  asked  twenty  idle  questions  con- 
cerning the  carriage,  without  obtaining  much  satisfaction. 
The  man  he  addressed  was  a  long  raw-boned  lank  fellow, 
a  curiosity  in  his  way.  His  name  was  Bela  Tilley,  and 
he  was  as  perfect  a  specimen  of  the  universal  Yankee,  as 
could  be  found  a  hundred  years  ago.  He  was  a  travel- 
ing character,  never  remaining  very  long  in  any  one 
place.  He  first  came  to  Virginia  as  a  trader,  and  con- 
cluded to  stop  a  while  in  Williamsburg,  and  see  what 
was  to  be  seen.  Mr.  Brandon  had  encountered  him  there, 
and  taken  a  fancy  to  him,  and  Bela  had  been  on  the 
estate  about  a  year,  liberally  paid,  doing  pretty  nearly  as 

(44) 


A    WARNING.  45 

he  liked,  having  contrived  to  render  himself  very  popular. 
He  hailed  from  Newport,  Rhode  Island,  where  he  had  a 
wife  and  family,  whom  he  professed  to  be  very  fond  of, 
though  thinking  they  could  do  quite  as  well  without  him. 
He  gave  his  reasons  frankly  when  asked  concerning  his 
roving  disposition,  and  would  say : 

"  Wai,  yer  see,  I  never  was  fond  o'  stickin'  to  home, 
and  telled  my  wife  so  afore  I  married  her.  She  come 
from  Warwick  Neck,  had  lots  o'  cousins  spotted  all  over 
the  country,  clean  down  to  Pint  Judy ;  some  more  on 
'em  over  on  t'other  shore — was  very  fond  o'  goin'  all 
reound  an'  stayin  a  spell  along  »er  some  on  'em.  Wai,  I 
telled  her  I  was  fond  o'  visitin  tu,  but  my  idees  er  forin 
travel  warn't  to  be  bounded  no  how  by  Hud  Island  Col'- 
ny ;  guess  I  did'nt  want  to  be  kep  in  that  are  region  all 
my  life,  bein  treated  to  nothin  but  cohogs*  and  leather 
pies.f  My  views  o'  human  natur  was  much  more  ex-ten- 

*  Probably  quahaugs. 

t  In  regard  to  the  edibles  which  seem  to  have  disgusted  Mr.  Tilley, 
the  author  feels  bound  to  state  the  following.  During  several  sum- 
mers in  Newport,  he  had  been  annoyed  as  many  others  were  at  bathing 
hours,  by  crowds  of  women  coming  down  to  the  beach  to  stare  at 
swimmers,  when  they  ought  to  have  been  elsewhere.  These  women 
collect  in  Warwick,  Bristol,  Potowome,  and  other  "  Quaker  bottoms," 
and  go  down  to  Newport  in  shoals  on  the  Providence  excursion 
steamboats.  Bundling  into  omnibuses  on  the  dock,  they  start  "right 
away  for  the  beach,"  as  before  told.  It  is  a  singular  physiological  fact 
that  nearly  all  these  women  have  their  front  teeth  broken  out ;  the 
appearance  of  their  mouths  is  consequently  peculiar,  and  by  no  means 
enticing.  Wondering  at  the  cause  of  this  singular  uniformity,  the 
author  was  finally  relieved  by  information  from  a  valued  friend  and 
poet,  who  had  discovered  the  reason  of  it.  The  dental  vacancies,  were 
the  result  of  almost  exclusive  feeding  on  leather  pies.  It  is  highly 
gratifying  therefore,  to  find  the  testimony  of  Mr.  Bela  Tilley  a  hundred 
years  ago,  corroborated  by  one  of  the  enlightened  minds  of  the  nine- 
teenth century. 


46  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

sive.  So  we  jest  agreed  to  go  an  come  when  we  liked, 
and  whar  we  liked,  an  Ave've  aliens  got  along  prime." 

"  Do  you  think  of  returning  to  your  family  at  an  early 
day,  Mr.  Tilley  ?'»  Charles  asked. 

"  I  calculate  not  soon,  yer  see  there's  nothin  for  me  to 
du.to  home;  wife  an  young  un's  doin'  better  nor  ef  I 
was,  an  I'm  makin  a  deal  sight  more  money  for  'em  here." 

"  Then  you  like  Virginia  better  than  Rhode  Island  ?" 

u  Wai,  not  the  country,  no,  not  the  country,  gev  me 
my  own,  with  su'thin  puty  smart  agin  a  rainy  day,  an  I'd 
like  to  git  clean  eout  er  the  sight  er  niggers  for  one  while. 
But  the  work  here  and  the  eatin'  soots  my  complexshun 
complete— weather  ples'nt  an  not  tu  much  to  du.  I  can 
sit  reound  the  fire  nights,  crack  butternuts  an  drink  cider ; 
calculate  to  fat  up  this  winter." 

Charles  turned  away,  slowly  sauntering  through  the 
park.  He  began  to  feel  lonesome,  and  wished  that 
Blanche  had  not  gone  away.  He  went  to  the  margin  of 
the  little  brook,  which  murmured  soothingly  to  his 
troubles.  But  he  was  restless,  ill  at  ease,  the  landscape 
he  thought  dull,  the  sky  gloomy,  although  the  sun  shone 
bright,  the  wind  harsher  than  it  had  been  an  hour  before, 
and  even  his  friend  the  brook  soon  appeared  indifferent 
to  his  sorrows.  He  looked  towards  the  house,  not  a 
creature  was  seen  stirring  near  it,  its  lonely  look  oppressed 
him ;  he  went  into  the  garden  in  front  of  the  hall,  it  too 
was  sad  and  deserted.  The  river  affected  him  more  than 
aught  else,  for  it  looked  happy,  sparkling  in  the  sun 
beams,  and  he  thought  it  laughed  saucily  at  his  moody 
fancies. 

He  entered  the  house ;  its  shadows  fell  a  thousand 
times  darker  than  ever  before  ;  the  harp  which  Blanche 
had  so  endeared,  sounded  out  of  tune,  and  as  he  sullenly 
drew  his  fingers  over  its  chords,  one  of  them  suddenly 


A    WARNING.  47 

snapped.  He  walked  into  the  library,  read  a  few  lines 
of  Dry  den,  and  the  book  fell  from  his  hands. 

Poor  Charles!  was  he  in  love,  and  knew  not  what 
troubled  him  ?  No,  he  could  still  reason  coolly  ;  he  was 
not  in  love  with  Blanche,  and  yet — and  yet — would  that 
she  were  back  again,  and  that  he  was  not  forced  to  return 
to  college. 

While  seated  in  the  library,  his  thoughts  not  of  the 
most  pleasant  nature,  he  was  roused  from  his  reverie  by 
sounds  of  approaching  footsteps,  and  looking  up  he  saw 
his  cousin,  Randolph  Brandon,  who  yet  lingered,  being 
privileged  to  do  so  in  virtue  of  his  relationship. 

"  I  was  looking  for  you,  Charles,  half  this  morning, 
and  not  being  able  to  find  you,  was  obliged,  for  want  of 
company,  to  visit  Mr.  Bela  Tilley ;  what  a  queer  charac- 
ter your  father  picked  up  in  him  ! " 

"  I  dare  say  Tilley  made  a  more  agreeable  companion 
than  I  do,"  replied  Charles,  "  especially  to  day,  as  I  feel 
in  any  mood  but  a  pleasant  one." 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  I  have  a  headache." 

"  Poh !  I  know  what  the  trouble  is,  you  are  in  love, 
boy." 

"  I  am  not  in  love,"  said  Charles  blushing. 

"  Oh,  indeed  not !  what  is  that  I  see  in  your  face  ?" 

"But,  really  Charles,"  Randolph  added,  "is  it  not 
true?" 

"  It  is  not.     I  love  no  one — except  my  mother." 

"But,"  persisted  Randolph,  "have  you  not  a  tender 
passion  for  Blanche  Estcourt?" 

"  No  ! "  said  Charles  emphatically,  "  I  have  not.  The 
little  I  have  seen  of  her,  I  greatly  like  ;  but  I  have  neither 
formed  nor  expressed  for  her  any  opinion  beyond  that  of 
admiration  for  her  beauty — to  that,  I  confess." 


48  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

"  And,  then,  it  is  not  true  that  you  are  entirely  fas- 
cinated by  her ;  in  short,  that  you  have  told  her  of  your 
hopes,  and  plighted  your  word  to  her  ?  " 

"  As  I  live,  it  is  not !  But  why  are  you  so  anxious 
about  a  matter  which  if  determined  on,  could  concern 
me  solely?" 

"  It  is  for  that  very  reason  that  I  am  so  interested  in  it, 
and  in  you.  Thank  God  my  fears  are  relieved !  Now  let 
me  tell  you  what  I  think  about  Blanche.  She  is  charming, 
and  were  circumstances  different,  I  should  be  glad  to  see 
her  your  wife ;  but  she  has  a  mother  of  whom  you  should 
beware.  I  don't  warn  you  against  her,  on  account  of  her 
manners  or  temper,  of  which  you  can  judge  yourself;  but 
her  ambition  has  something  in  it  fearful  to  me,  and  I  fear, 
reared  as  you  have  been,  that  she  would  cause  you  much 
unhappiness,  do  what  you  could  to  prevent  it.  Still,  that 
is  not  my  greatest  fear ;  as  a  friend,  and  you  know  I  am 
one,  I  wish  to  warn  you  against  her,  on  other  grounds. 
Connected  with  that  woman's  life,  there  have  been  strange 
and  singularly  unexplained  circumstances,  which  beget 
suspicion  in  me,  as  they  have  in  others.  I  do  not  love 
mystery,  or  desire  to  bewilder  you ;  but  I  cannot  explain 
more  on  the  subject,  at  present,  knowing  as  little  as  I  do. 
Be  advised  by  me,  however ;  let  not  your  admiration  of 
Blanche,  betray  you  into  hasty  love.  You  are  yet  very 
young,  have  seen  little  of  the  world,  and  can  well  wait 
awhile — before  marrying,  especially — as  you  avow  your- 
self heart  whole,  now." 

Charles  promised  to  exercise  due  control  over  himself, 
but  added,  "  You  have  now  excited  my  curiosity ;  and  it 
is  but  fair  that  you  tell  me  what  you  know  of  these  suspi- 
cious circumstances  attaching  to  Blanche's  mother." 

"  I  cannot  now ;  for  I  may  after  all,  be  wrong,  but 
time  will  prove.  Now,  to  change  the  subject,  I  will  tell 


A    WARNING.  49 

you  a  secret  of  my  own,  if  not  those  of  others.  You  must 
soon  go  back  to  college ;  I  shall  accompany  you.  I  am 
very  shortly  to  be  married  to  a  lady  in  Boston,  and  you 
must  be  one  of  my  attendants.  Now,  shake  off  your  dull 
fit,  your  headache,  and  I  will  outplay  you  in  a  game  of 
tennis  ball." 

Randolph  Brandon  was  some  ten  years  Charles'  senior ; 
he  had  been  left  an  orphan  at  an  early  age,  and  had  lived 
at  Kingwood,  chiefly  under  the  care  of  Mrs.  Brandon, 
whom  he  loved  as  if  she  were  his  own  mother.  A  large 
fortune,  inherited  from  his  parents,  was  held  in  trust  for 
him,  until  he  attained  his  majority,  since  which  period  he 
had  passed  much  of  his  time  in  Europe.  He  had  been 
received  with  distinction  at  foreign  courts,  had  made  the 
acquaintance  of  many  eminent  men,  among  whom  he  was 
proud  to  number  Thomas  Gray,  the  poet,  and  Horace 
Wai  pole.  In  his  wanderings  about  the  colonies,  he  had 
visited  Boston,  and  been  smitten  with  the  charms  of  the 
fair  one,  whom  we  shall  introduce  in  due  time. 

The  cousins  were  soon  prepared  for  their  journey,  and 
according  to  the  fashions  of  the  day — with  persons  of  dis- 
tinction— traveled  on  horseback,  attended  by  black  ser- 
vants. 

At  Annapolis  they  partook  of  the  hospitalities  of  the 
place  for  a  day  or  two,  then  pursued  their  way  to  the  north. 

Baltimore,  at  that  time,  contained  some  thirty  or  forty 
houses ;  Philadelphia,  and  New  York,  were  by  no  means 
large ;  and,  if  these  towns  made  any  impression  on  our 
sagacious  travelers,  we  fear  the  world  must  lose  the  ben- 
efit of  their  views,  as  none  of  the  notes  of  their  journey 
have  been  preserved. 

Without  incident  worthy  of  narration,  they  eventually 
reached  Boston,  where  Randolph  remained,  while  Charles 
at  once  repaired  to  the  university, 


CHAPTER    VI. 

LUCY   AND   THE   KBCLUSE. 

Too  long  have  we  left  sweet  Lucy  Tyrrell ;  too  long 
to  wander  alone  upon  the  wild  sea  shore,  and  as  she 
beheld  ships  pass  in  the  distance,  visit  with  them  in  imagi- 
nation those  remote  countries,  which  she  had  dreamed 
and  read  of. 

Yet  she  was  happy  in  her  little  island  home ;  and  when 
she  heard  of  other  lands  with  but  a  half-formed  wish  to 
quit  her  own,  she  would  soon  check  her  roving  fancies  for 
fear  that  she  had  done  wrong  even  to  think  of  leaving 
her  kind  parents.  But  in  truth  they  had  anticipated  her 
in  thoughts  of  future  plans ;  they  often  asked  themselves 
now,  if  they  were  always  to  remain  so  far  away  from  the 
busy  world,  and  although  contented  with  their  own  situ- 
ation, they  could  hardly  deem  it  advantageous  to  Lucy. 

But  as  she  was  beautiful  and  pure-minded,  a  dread  of 
her  contamination  by  gayer  society  troubled  them,  and 
made  them  hesitate  to  change  their  habitation.  Their 
doubts,  however,  were  quite  unexpectedly  terminated. 
One  morning  Mr.  Tyrrell  was  surprised  by  the  appear- 
ance of  his  cousin  Edward,  who  resided  in  Boston,  and 
whom  he  had  not  seen  for  twenty-five  years. 

The  stranger  announced  his  intention  of  passing  a  day 
or  two  on  the  island,  having  visited  it  expressly  to  see  his 
cousin.  Classmates  and  chums  in  college,  they  had  sepa- 
rated on  leaving  the  halls  of  alma  mater,  to  enter  man- 
hood under  different  auspices;  one,  born  to  fortune,  to 
embrace  public  life  and  pursue  a  distinguished  career  in 
the  service  of  the  crown ;  the  other,  poor  in  purse,  though 

(80) 


LUCY   AND   THE   RECLUSE.  51 

not  the  less  deserving,  to  repair  to  the  secluded  island 
and  remain  in  obscurity  for  a  quarter  of  a  century.  They 
were  about  the  same  age,  and  having  great  similarity  of 
tastes,  were  much  attached  to  each  other.  Although  they 
had  not  met  for  so  long  a  time,  their  acquaintance  had 
been  kept  alive  by  occasional  letters,  and  the  minister's 
little  household  was  frequently  cheered  by  opportune  and 
generous  presents  from  the  richer  relative.  People  who 
have  been  separated  for  twenty-five  years  find  frequently 
that  they  have  less  to  say  and  tell  of  than  they  imagined 
when  picturing  the  anticipated  meeting,  and  even  in  this 
instance,  the  two  cousins,  pleased  as  they  were,  found 
some  trouble  in  loosening  the  rust  of  those  long  years, 
before  they  could  confer  together  as  freely  as  they  were 
wont. 

Soon,  however,  Edward  Tyrrell  found  his  relative's 
society  no  less  attractive  than  of  old,  and  was  glad  for  a 
brief  season  to  surrender  himself  to  the  calm  enjoyment 
of  freedom  and  repose,  forgetting  the  cares  of  state 
which  had  borne  him  down  for  years.  From  two  days 
of  a  purposed  sojourn,  his  stay  was  lengthened  to  a  week; 
then  day  after  day  passed,  and  he  found  nearly  a  month 
gone  by  before  he  could  make  up  his  mind  to  tear  him- 
self away.  His  health,  impaired  by  long  laboi-,  now  re- 
vived ;  he  enjoyed  every  moment,  and  found  at  the  plain 
board  of  the  manse  an  appetite  which  he  thought  lost 
forever. 

In  his  walks  by  the  sea-beach,  or  among  the  hills,  or  his 
visits  to  the  hamlets,  listening  to  the  queer  talk  of  the 
people,  Lucy  was  ever  the  light  of  his  life,  his  companion. 
He  loved  her  free,  frank,  artless  conversation,  its  simplicity 
enlivened  by  a  ceaseless  playfulness,  yet  not  without  dig- 
nity ;  and,  simple  islander  as  she  was,  no  awkward  rusticity 
attached  to  her  manners  more  than  to  her  motions. 


52  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

Mr.  Tyrrell  saw  that  she  had  been  carefully  nurtured, 
that  she  was  by  nature  formed  to  enjoy  and  grace  the 
highest  ranks  of  life,  and  he  blamed  himself  that  he  had 
not  sooner  known  her,  and  aided  in  her  education.  When 
she  sat  with  him  in  the  little  study,  and  he  drew  her  un- 
awares to  speak  of  her  father's  pursuits,  and  of  her  own 
love  of  books,  without  the  slightest  tinge  of  pedantry 
she  displayed  to  him  the  broad,  solid  foundation  of  her 
understanding  and  acquirements,  and  delighted  him  by 
speaking  of  her  favorite  authors.  "  Surely,"  thought  he, 
"  my  daughter  is  a  good  girl,  but  this  one  knows  a  hun- 
dred times  as  much  of  what  is  really  valuable,  with  com- 
paratively no  advantages,  though  perhaps  she  cannot 
work  as  fine  embroidery,  or  manage  a  fan  as  Matilda  does. 
What  else  has  she  studied.  Let  me  see." 

'*  You  are  a  good  Greek  and  Latin  scholar,  Lucy.  I 
am  quite  surprised." 

"  Indeed  !  and  do  you  not  think  that  if  I  love  papa,  that 
I  ought  to  try  to  excel  ?  He  has  taught  me  all  I  know." 

"  And  do  you  understand  French  or  Italian  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  papa  did  not  study  them  in  college,  and — " 

"  Neither  did  I,"  broke  in  Mr.  Tyrrell.  "  Well,  Lucy, 
how  is  it  as  to  music  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  will  find  me  very  ignorant,  I  fear.  I  have  no 
musical  instrument,  but  I  sing  at  times." 

"  And  dancing  ?  " 

"  No  indeed !  "  said  Lucy,  with  a  little  of  the  Puritan 
in  her  look  and  voice,  "  how  could  I,  papa  never  dances !  " 

"  Well,"  replied  Mr.  Tyrrell,  laughing  at  her  serious 
looks,  "neither  do  I,  my  pretty  cousin,  but  you  shall 
learn  all  these  if  you  like ! " 

"  But  dancing ! "  again  began  Lucy,  very  dubiously, 
"  papa  might  not  like  it ;  and  dancing  alone,  oh  dear,  how 
dismal  that  would  be ! " 


LUCY   AND   THE   RECLUSE.  53 

"  Now,  Lucy,  is  it  not  possible  that  you  could  induce 
one  of  those  young  fishermen  in  a  '  souwester '  hat  and  a 
pea-jacket  to  take  lessons  with  you? " 

"  It  would  be  impossible,  he  would  be  frightened  out 
of  his  wits ;  besides,  there  is  not  a  young  man  on  the 
island,  even  a  fisherman." 

"  No  exception,  then,  to  your  father  and  me,"  said  Mr. 
Tyrrell ;  "  come,  cousin  Lucy,  you  are  too  hard.  But  let 
me  tell  you,"  he  added,  dropping  his  jesting  tone,  "  how 
much  I  have  enjoyed  your  society.  I  must,  however, 
now  return  to  Boston,  and  I  hope  you  will  accompany  me. 
You  should  know  your  cousin  Matilda ;  I  am  sure  she 
will  love  you  as  I  do.  She  is  soon  to  be  married  to  a 
wealthy  gentleman  from  Virginia,  Mr.  Randolph  Bran- 
don. They  have  been  engaged  for  some  time,  and  like 
all  other  young  people  now  want  to  be  married.  It  is 
time  for  me  to  return  home,  and  you,  I  insist  upon  it,  must 
go  with  me." 

"  I  should  love  to  visit  Boston  and  to  see  cousin  Ma- 
tilda, but  I  am  afraid  papa  and  mamma  would  never 
live  happily  without  me." 

"  Trust  me  for  that,  Lucy.  I  have  already  spoken  to 
them,  and  you  have  their  free  consent ;  so  see  if  we  do 
not  teach  you  dancing  in  spite  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers, 
and  find  you  a  handsomer  partner  than  that  young  son 
of  Neptune  in  a  souwester." 

The  delighted  Lucy,  now  that  her  only  objection  was 
removed,  soon  prepared  for  her  visit.  Her  small  ward- 
robe was  subjected  to  the  closest  scrutiny ;  every  article 
of  hers  must  be  made  to  look  as  neat  as  possible,  she  not 
oeing  aware  that  perhaps  the  first  step  of  her  fashionable 
relations  would  be  to  divest  her  of  such  simple  apparel,  for 
that  better  suited  to  the  courtly  elegance  of  Boston.  It  was 
arranged  between  the  cousins  that  Lucy's  absence  from 


54  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

home  should  not  be  of  very  brief  nature,  and  the  gene- 
rosity of  Edward  Tyrrell,  who  had  discovered  in  her  such 
a  charming  character,  prompted  him  to  offer  his  house  as 
her  home  for  a  season,  and  the  defrayment  of  all  expenses 
incident  to  a  finished  education.  The  clergyman  and  his 
wife  gladly  consented  to  this  arrangement,  though  grieved 
to  part  with  their  child,  and  long  were  their  talks  with 
her,  earnest  their  advice,  and  many  their  tears  before 
they  separated. 

Lucy,  full  of  the  prospect  of  so  much  happiness,  went 
from  hamlet  to  hamlet  to  bid  the  old  people  farewell. 
Though  they  had  sons  hi  the  Pacific  Ocean,  and  husbands 
in  the  Arctic  seas,  they  thought  a  visit  to  Boston  as  little 
less  than  a  journey  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  shaking  their 
heads  in  dismay  when  they  heard  of  the  time  she  was  to 
remain  absent. 

As  she  was  retracing  her  steps  to  the  manse,  "  I  had 
nearly  forgotten  Rachel,"  she  said,  "  and  as  I  am  the  only 
being  on  the  island  whom  she  professes  to  care  for,  except- 
ing papa  and  mamma,  she  would  take  it  ill  indeed  if  I  left 
without  saying  good  bye  to  her."  Turning  back,  she 
ascended  the  hill,  and  in  a  few  moments  reached  Rachel's 
cottage,  which  was  smaller  than  many  of  the  others,  but 
by  no  means  as  poor  in  appearance  as  the  generality  of 
them.  It  bore  minute  but  ineffaceable  evidence  of  occu- 
pancy by  one  of  more  refined  taste  than  the  village 
people.  The  vines  were  tastefully  arranged  around  the 
door,  and  the  abode  was  scrupulously  neat.  Nor  did  its 
interior  merely  display  such  rude  chattels  as  at  once  indi- 
cated poverty  and  the  fisher's  craft,  but  was  furnished 
plainly,  though  neatly,  as  if  the  tenant  were  possessed  of 
sufficient  means  to  insure  comfort. 

Rachel,  for  she  was  known  by  no  other  name,  was  a 
singular  being,  and  all  that  the  villagers  could  tell  of 


LUCY   AND   THE   RECLUSE.  55 

her  was,  that  she  had  suddenly  appeared  in  the  island 
about  nine  years  before  the  period  of  which  we  write,  and, 
refusing  all  communication  with  the  inhabitants,  had  dwelt 
alone  since  that  tune. 

The  most  prying  curiosity  of  the  village  gossips  had 
failed  to  inform  them  who  Rachel  really  was,  or  of  her 
former  history.  She  was  evidently  of  superior  culture, 
but  inquisition  was  baffled  by  her  dignified  manner,  which 
repelled  intrusion.  The  clergyman  and  his  wife  knew 
indeed  of  her  previous  history,  but  they  had  always 
refused  to  acquaint  Lucy  with  it.  Her  father's  invariable 
reply  to  his  child's  question  was,  "  Her  history  is  of  no 
consequence  to  you ;  she  does  not  wish  it  divulged." 
And  when  the  girl  said,  as  she  often  did,  "  Perhaps  she  is 
a  lady  in  disguise,  papa,"  his  only  answer  would  be, 
"  No  matter  if  she  is,  have  it  so  if  you  will." 

With  curiosity  thus  piqued,  Lucy  had  often  besought 
Rachel  to  tell  her  her  history,  but  she  had  always  put  her 
off  with  excuses  and  promises  to  do  so  at  some  future 
time.  As  Lucy  grew  from  childhood,  she  formed  quite 
an  intimacy  with  the  recluse,  who  became  much  attached 
to  her,  and  saw  her  frequently.  The  village  tattlers, 
disappointed  in  not  being  able  to  break  through  Rachel's 
incognito,  set  her  down,  in  revenge,  perhaps,  as  insane, 
while  some,  more  bitter  than  others,  hinted  that  she  was 
in  league  with  the  powers  of  darkness. 

Strange  tales  were  whispered  by  these  wiseacres,  of 
mysterious  vessels  that  sailed  in  the  dead  of  night  into 
the  harbor,  but  were  gone  when  morning  came,  and  of 
figures  that  left  these  phantom  barks  and  proceeded  to 
her  cottage.  Mr.  Tyrrell  had  at  first  taken  the  trouble 
to  investigate  these  matters,  but  whether  he  discovered 
any  truth  in  the  reports  or  not,  he  always  before  the 
people  spoke  of  the  gossip  about  her  as  sheer  nonsense. 


56  BRANDON  ;    OB,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

Rachel  certainly  carried  no  familiarity  with  the  evil  one 
in  her  looks,  and  very  likely  was  quite  ignorant  of  such 
inuendoes.  Hers  was  a  lady-like  presence ;  her  counte- 
nance bore  marks  of  former  beauty,  and  still  retained  all 
its  sweetness,  but  it  was  stamped  with  the  impress  of 
settled  sorrow. 

As  Lucy  entered  her  cottage,  she  was  seated  at  the 
spinning-wheel,  which  she  used  occasionally  for  occupa- 
tion's sake,  though  her  time  was  more  generally  employed 
in  reading.  She  looked  up  as  the  girl's  shadow  darkened 
the  threshold,  and  seeing  who  it  was,  rose  courteously 
and  proffered  a  chair ;  then,  without  waiting  for  Lucy  to 
begin  the  conversation,  she  said : 

"  So,  my  darling,  you  are  going  to  leave  to-morrow,  I 
hear." 

"How  did  you  learn  so,  Rachel ;  did  papa  tell  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  Lucy ;  he  was  here  yesterday,  and  had  a  long 
talk  with  me." 

"  And  you  were  very  glad  to  hear  I  was  going,  I  sup- 
pose ?" 

"  No,  my  pet,  I  cannot  say  that.  I  was  very  sorry ; 
for  I  believe  you  would  be  happier  here  in  the  island." 

"My  good  Rachel,  why  so?" 

"  Oh,  I  can  hardly  tell  why.  I  may  be  wrong ;  but  I 
have  known  so  much  sadness  in  my  life  when  I  was  in  the 
world,  that  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  one  so  young  and 
innocent,  and  so  dear  to  me  as  you  are,  trusting  yourself 
to  its  deceits ! " 

"Have  you  been  deceived  by  it,  Rachel?" 

"Bitterly,  indeed!— but  do  not  concern  yourself  for 
my  griefs." 

"Yes,  Rachel,  I  must  feel  for  you.  You  have  often  said 
that  you  would  tell  me  the  story  of  your  sufferings ;  why 
not  narrate  them  to  me  now,  if  not  too  painful  to  you  ?" 


LUCY   AND   THE  RECLUSE.  57 

"  No,  Lucy,  not  now.  I  do  not  wish  you  to  go  away, 
and  bear  with  you  any  memory  of  my  sorrows.  My  story 
is  not,  indeed,  worth  your  sympathy." 

"Will  you  tell  me,  then,  on  my  return;  as  you  are 
unwilling  to  do  so  now?" 

"  Yes,  my  pretty  one ;  but  tell  me  now  a  little  more 
about  yourself,  and  why  you  are  going  away." 

"  To  complete  my  studies ;  and  soon  to  see  my  cousin 
Matilda  married." 

"  Ah,  to  be  married !  your  father  did  not  tell  me  that. 
Whom  does  she  marry?" 

"  A  gentleman  from  the  Virginia  colony,  Mr.  Brandon." 

"  From  Virginia ;  Brandon !  Brandon ! "  said  Rachel, 
starting  suddenly,  and  looking  fixedly  at  Lucy. 

"  Yes,  Brandon.  But  what  is  the  matter,  Rachel  ?  You 
look  alarmed." 

"  'Tis  nothing,  child ;  it  only  recalled  former  days.  I 
have  heard  of  the  name  in  Virginia." 

"  Were  you  ever  there  ?  "  asked  Lucy,  surprised  in  her 
turn. 

"  Yes,  and  sorry  enough  that  I  ever  was ;  but  no  mat- 
ter now.  I  never  knew  Mr.  Brandon." 

"  Then  why  did  you  seem  so  surprised  ?  " 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Rachel,  without  heeding  this  question, 
"  did  your  father's  cousin,  Mr.  Tyrrell,  ever  mention  to 
you  the  names  of  any  other  persons  in  the  Virginia 
colony?" 

"  No,  I  do  not  remember  that  he  did." 

"  He  never  spoke  of  a  Mr.  Parchmount,  did  he  ?  or  of 

such  a  person  as" Rachel  hesitated,  and  looked 

steadfastly  at  Lucy  again, "as  an  Estcourt?" 

"No;  why  do  you  ask?  What  Estcourt,  man  or 
woman  ?  " 

Rachel  was  silent  again,  and  for  a  few  moments  paused 
3* 


58  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

in  deep  thought ;  then,  without  referring  to  these  topics, 
said :  "  Well,  Lucy,  I  hope  you  will  be  happy  away 
from  home.  I  was  only  thinking  just  then  of  the  deep 
love  I  have  for  you,  and  imagined  that  your  lot  in  life 
would  be  connected  with  mine.  But  this  is  idle  fancy ; 
and,  if  I  mistake  not,  you  will  have  no  such  sorrows." 

In  further  conversation  Lucy  spent  an  hour  with 
Rachel,  then  said  farewell ;  and  the  next  morning  left 
the  island,  in  company  with  Mr.  Tyrrell. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

LUCY   IN   BOSTON. 

THE  city  readied  in  safety,  Mr.  Tyrrell  and  Lucy  were 
whirled  in  a  carriage  to  the  door  of  his  mansion — one  of 
those  noble,  massive  residences,  with  extensive  ranges 
of  out-buildings,  and  large  gardens,  of  which  there  were 
once  many  in  Boston. 

She  was  most  kindly  met  by  Mr.  Tyrrell's  wife,  and 
his  daughter  Matilda,  who  was  a  year  or  two  older  than 
herself;  and  she  soon  ceased  to  feel  embarrassed  in  their 
presence,  for  being  persons  of  kind  hearts  as  well  as  high 
rank  in  life,  they  took  pleasure  in  smoothing  over  Lucy's 
little  difficulties,  and  putting  her  at  ease. 

For  a  simple  maiden,  she  found  much  to  excite  wonder ; 
it  was  as  if  she  had  stepped  into  an  enchanted  palace ;  all 
was  so  rich  and  splendid. 

She  had  never  dreamed  of  such  pictures ;  had  never 
seen  before  a  painting  or  a  statue,  not  even  a  good  en- 
graving. The  elaborate  service  of  the  table,  china  and 
plate,  the  profusion  which  reigned  in  the  abode,  at  first 
bewildered  her;  but  good  sense  suggested  silence,  and 
tact  soon  supplied  the  deficiencies  of  her  training. 

She  felt  more  at  ease  when  out  of  doors,  in  the  gardens ; 
but  even  here  she  was  astonished  at  the  rich  and  varied 
flowers,  the  shrubs  and  vines,  and  the  trees,  to  her  more 
wonderful  than  all,  there  being  scarcely  one  upon  the 
island. 

The  little  fountain  in  the  midst  of  the  scene,  that,  from 
a  circular  basin,  shot  its  tiny  column  upward,  and  waved 
glittering  in  the  air  like  a  plume  of  spun  glass ;  this  she 

(59) 


60  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

would  love  to  watch — it  would  almost  compensate  for  the 
waves  that  beat  upon  the  sands.  The  town,  with  its 
crowded  streets  and  busy  hum,  its  public  buildings,  its 
park,  its  Province  House,  proud  residence  of  the  governors 
of  the  commonwealth,  now  existing  only  in  the  pages  of 
Hawthorne;  the  stronghold  of  aristocratic  and  kingly 
power,  now  elbowed  out  of  the  way,  and  measured  off 
by  the  yardstick  of  pertinacious  trade,  and  sold  a  bargain ; 
this,  and  many  other  abodes  of  wealth  and  style,  formed 
numberless  objects  of  attraction  to  the  unsophisticated 
Lucy.  In  her  letters  to  her  parents,  written  whenever 
she  could  hear  of  a  packet  sailing  to  the  island,  she  de- 
scribed with  girlish  enthusiasm  all  the  wonders  that  met 
her  gaze;  and  no  young  person,  such  as  we  read  of, 
going  to  the  vast  London  to  seek  fortune,  was  ever  more 
overwhelmed  by  its  immensity  and  magnificence,  than  she 
by  the  lesser  glories  of  the  town  of  Boston. 

She  soon  felt  at  home  with  her  uncle  and  aunt,  as  she 
called  them,  desiring  to  pay  more  respect  than  she  con- 
sidered implied  by  the  title  of  cousin,  and  listened  delighted 
to  the  outpoured  confessions  of  the  fond  Matilda,  the  time 
of  whose  single  blessedness  drew  rapidly  to  a  close.  Of 
course  the  betrothed,  who  could  only  talk  of  her  love, 
was  enchanted  to  find  so  willing  a  listener  as  Lucy ;  and 
how  delightful  was  it  to  be  made  a  confidant,  to  have  a 
thousand  little  things  told  her  which  were  of  momentous 
importance,  not  to  be  repeated  for  the  world,  and  only 
disclosed  under  the  most  solemn  injunctions  of  secrecy. 

Then  came  the  endless  preparation  of  the  wardrobe ; 
the  search  in  every  shop  in  the  town  for  this,  that,  and 
the  other  articles  of  dress ;  the  quantities  of  presents  that 
poured  in,  examined  so  eagerly.  All  this  was  a  new 
revelation  to  Lucy,  all  duly  noted  down,  and,  the  secrets 
excepted,  described  in  her  letters.  ]tfr.  Tyrrell,  once 


LUCY  IN  BOSTON.  61 

more  immersed  in  the  cares  of  the  body  politic,  looked 
forward  every  evening  with  delight  to  Lucy's  society, 
for  now  the  lovelorn  Matilda  was  allowed  a  separate  nook 
ki  the  shade  of  the  curtain,  and  there  she  lay  perdue. 

Lucy  became  the  pet  of  the  house.  Randolph  took  a 
great  liking  to  her,  and  once  caused  his  lady-love  a  pang 
of  jealousy  that  lasted  full  half  an  hour,  and  required 
violent  protestations  of  half  an  hour  more  to  soothe,  be- 
cause he  said  if  he  had  seen  Lucy  sooner,  he  did  not 
know  what  might  have  happened. 

Mr.  Tyrrell's  promise  to  her  father  in  regard  to  her 
education  was  not  forgotten.  Competent  masters  in 
music  and  languages  were  provided,  and  with  her  powers 
of  close  application  to  study  and  a  good  mind,  she  made 
immediate  and  rapid  progress.  She  was  anxious  to  excel, 
both  from  her  own  ambition  and  the  pleasure  which  she 
knew  her  advancement  would  be  sure  to  give  her  parents. 

Lucy  heard  Randolph  Brandon  frequently  speak  of  his 
cousin  Chai-les,  and  when  she  had  been  domiciled  for 
several  months  at  her  uncle's,  the  family  sometimes 
wondered  that  they  had  not  seen  him  of  late. 

"  Mr.  Brandon,  what  can  have  become  of  your 
cousin  ?"  asked  Mr.  Tyrrell  one  day. 

"  Indeed  I  cannot  tell,  sir.  I  have  sent  to  Cambridge 
a  dozen  times  for  him,  but  he  pays  no  heed  to  my  sum- 
mons. I  suppose  he  is  either  wrapped  up  in  his  studies, 
or  he  is  too  indolent  to  take  the  trouble  to  visit  Boston." 

"  Surely  we  can  have  done  nothing  to  offend  him," 
suggested  Mrs.  Tyrrell. 

"  Whom  did  you  ever  offend,  lady  mine  ?"  replied  her 
husband,  gallantly. 

"  Well,"  said  Randolph,  "  if  Charles  chooses  to  act 
thus  and  stay  away,  it  is  because  he  does  not  know  what 
he  is  losing  in  you,  Lucy ;  is  it  not  so  ?" 


62  BRANDON  :    OB,   A  HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

"  I  suspect  he  does,  sir,  and  stays  away  for  that  very 
reason.  I  am  sure  I  have  no  objection  to  his  doing  so  as 
long  as  he  likes." 

"  Ah,  Lucy,  Lucy,  a  little  piqued  I  see." 

"  Stand  firm,  my  charming  cousin,"  said  Mr.  Tyrrell, 
"  I  perceive  I  must  come  to  your  aid." 

"  Oh,  no  need  of  it,  uncle,  I  can  defend  myself  very 
well.  Mr.  Randolph  is  the  only  one  who  is  a  little 
piqued,  because  I  am  quite  as  careless  of  his  admiration 
as  of  his  cousin's." 

"  That  is  right,  Lucy,"  said  Matilda,  "  I  wish  I  had 
your  mettle  to  keep  Randolph  in  better  order.  These 
cousins  are  much  alike,  I  think.  Charles  stays  away  be- 
cause I  received  his  advances  coolly,  and  in  revenge 
Randolph  tries  to  desert  me  and  make  love  to  you." 

"  He  wastes  a  great  deal  of  tune  then." 

"  Now  spare  me,"  said  Randolph,  "  and  we  will  try  to 
heal  all  differences.  Did  you  not  tell  me,  Mr.  Tyrrell, 
that  Governor  Pownall  had  issued  cards  for  a  grand 
entertainment  at  the  Province  House  ten  days  from  this 
time  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  did,  and  we  must  all  be  sure  to  honor  the 
ball." 

"  Of  course  we  will,  sir.  My  cousin  Charles  will  be 
certain  to  smuggle  himself  in  from  the  college  for  it,  and 
then  Lucy  and  Matilda,  having  a  hero  apiece,  will  be 
appeased." 

"  I  think  of  deserting  you  for  Charles,"  said  Matilda. 
"  How  is  it  with  you,  Lucy  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  will  permit  Mr.  Randolph's  attentions  this  time, 
however  unwelcome  they  may  be,  and  thus  repay  his 
cousin  for  his  negligence.  But  I  am  quite  indifferent  to 
either  of  them." 

Yes,   Lucy  was   "quite  indifferent,"   but    when   the 


LUCY   IN   BOSTON.  63 

momentous  day  came,  and  she  was  told  that  Charles 
would  be  sure  to  be  at  the  mansion  in  time  to  accompany 
the  party  to  the  Province  House,  and  that  he  was  ex- 
pected to  be  entirely  devoted  to  her,  though  regarding 
it  as  mere  raillery,  perhaps  she  lingered  a  moment  or  two 
longer  at  the  mirror,  and  adjusted  with  greater  care  the 
flowing  drapery  of  her  costume. 

Her  dress  was  not  to  be  distinguished  from  her  cousip 
Matilda's  for  richness,  and  she  appeared  to  greater  ad 
vantage  from,  her  superior  height  and  the  glowing  fresh- 
ness of  her  complexion;  and  although  so  recently  clad  in 
rustic  robes,  she  moved  with  as  much  grace  and  ease,  as 
if  bred  in  the  atmosphere  of  courts. 

The  languishing  Matilda  would  have  preferred  to  re- 
main behind  in  sweet  converse  with  her  adored  lover, 
but  her  father  would  hear  of  no  such  thing,  hinting  that 
the  absence  of  one  member  of  so  august  a  party  as  his 
family  made,  might  be  construed  into  nothing  less  than  a 
premeditated  slight  to  the  reigning  powers.  Proud  as 
he  was  of  his  official  station,  and  thoroughly  satisfied  with 
his  own  appearance  on  this  occasion,  he  could  not  but  be 
much  more  delighted  with  two  such  beautiful  women  as 
his  niece  and  daughter.  Randolph,  for  once  differing 
from  Matilda,  manifested  no  intention  of  remaining  be- 
hind, and  the  party,  having  waited  in  vain  for  Charles,  at 
length  left  without  him ;  anathemas  heaped  upon  his  head 
all  the  while  by  his  incensed  cousin. 

They  reached  the  street  hi  which  the  Province  House 
was  situated,  descended  at  the  gate  of  the  courtyard 
which  then  extended  before  the  building,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment more  were  mixed  with  the  throng  that  poured  into 
its  halls.  The  size  of  the  palace,  as  it  seemed,  the  broad 
staircase,  the  number  and  decorations  of  the  rooms,  the 
rich  furniture  and  portraits  of  famous  governors  of  old, 


64     BRANDON  ;  OR,  A  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 

the  innumerable  lights,  the  exhilarating  strains  of  music, 
the  variety  and  richness  of  the  ladies'  dresses,  the  military 
uniforms  which  glanced  here  and  there  ;  all  these  burst 
on  Lucy  like  a  new  revelation.  She  saw  numbers  of 
those  who  bore  evident  marks  of  distinction,  whom  she 
had  before  heard  of;  here  a  celebrated  judge  or  lawyer, 
and  here  some  famous  general,  a  chance  author,  or  orator 
of  established  reputation ;  and  some  traveler  might  be 
seen,  who  had  exhausted  the  old  world  and  was  about  to 
plunge  into  the  wilderness  of  the  new.  Matilda,  familiar 
with  all  these  personages,  informed  Lucy  of  them  while 
they  stood  together  for  a  few  moments  after  paying  their 
respects  to  the  mighty  governor.  As  became  one  of  bis 
official  position,  Mr.  Tyrrell  continued  in  conversation 
with  the  magnate,  while  Randolph  had  disappeared  in  the 
throng  with  his  future  mother-in-law. 

"Two  lovely  daughters  of  yours,  happy  Mr.  Tyrrell, 
quite  unlike,  too ;  pardon  me,  but  I  have  forgotten  which 
is  so  soon  to  be  married." 

"  It  is  the  brunette  and  the  smaller  of  the  two,"  said 
Mr.  Tyrrell,  indicating  by  a  nod ;  "  but  your  Excellency 
has  fallen  into  error.  I  have  but  one  daughter,  the  other 
is  my  niece." 

"  Pardon  me,"  reph'ed  the  governor,  "  we  public  men 
must  make  mistakes  sometimes ;  the  niece  is  it  ?  divinely 
fair ;  and  is  she  too  about  to  make  her  lover  happy  ?  " 

"  Not  quite  yet,  she  has  not  long  been  in  company ;  she 
is  just  from  out  the  sea." 

"  A  pearl  of  price  then  in  truth  she  is,"  said  the  urbane 
governor,  but  not  desiring  to  praise  the  niece  too  much 
at  the  expense  of  the  daughter,  added,  "  but  touching 
this  marriage,  tell  me  when  will  it  be  ?  " 

"  On  Wednesday  fortnight,"  said  Mr.  Tyrrell ;  "  and  I 
assure  you  that  nothing  can  add  more  to  our  happiness 


LUCY   IN   BOSTON.  65 

than  the  hope  that  your  Excellency  will  be  disposed  to 
honor  us  on  that  occasion  with  your  presence." 

The  hope  was  gratified  on  the  spot,  for  of  course  noth- 
ing could  be  further  from  the  governor's  thoughts,  than 
absence  from  the  ceremony. 

The  Tyrrells  mingled  with  the  company  and  passed 
from  room  to  room.  Fond  as  Matilda's  father  was  of 
her,  he  could  not  but  be  pleased  with  the  remarks  which 
Lucy's  more  striking  beauty  elicited.  He  introduced  to 
her  several  of  his  acquaintances,  who,  in  the  course  of 
the  evening,  spoke  to  him  in  rapturous  terms  of  her  ap- 
pearance, and  were  surprised  to  learn  of  the  short  time 
she  had  been  in  the  world  of  fashion.  But  Lucy's  charm 
of  manner  was  as  natural  to  her  as  the  graces  of  her  per- 
son ;  it  was  instantly  perceived,  as  her  beauty  was  no  more 
assumed  than  the  glow  in  her  cheek ;  and  it  would  have 
fascinated  one  in  the  lonely  island  as  soon  as  in  the  circle 
of  high  rank.  No  one,  worldling  as  he  might  be,  but 
enjoyed  his  communion  with  that  innocent  spirit. 

As  Lucy  was  seated  listening  to  the  music,  and  watching 
the  mazes  of  the  dance,  which  to  her  was  a  new  pleasure, 
she  suddenly  missed  Mr.  Tyrrell  and  Matilda,  who  but  a 
moment  since  had  been  by  her  side.  She  rose  to  look 
for  them,  and  on  the  other1  side  of  the  room  saw  the  tall 
form  of  Randolph  Brandon. 

Judging  her  cousin  to  be  near  him,  she  moved  through 
the  throng  to  join  her,  and  then  in  a  moment  more  look- 
ing again,  he  too  had  disappeared.  Embarrassed  by  her 
situation,  and  not  knowing  exactly  whether  to  stand  still 
where  she  was,  or  move  on,  she  suddenly  heard  a  voice 
close  beside  her  with  an  offer  to  assist  her  if  she  was  in 
search  of  a  friend.  She  turned  her  head  and  looked  upon 
the  speaker ;  he  was  a  tall  and  finely  fonned  young  per- 
sonage, scarce  of  age,  if  she  could  judge  from  the  smooth 


66  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

roundness  of  his  cheek,  with  lips  about  which  played  a 
slight  smile ;  but  Lucy  was  encouraged  by  the  kind  and 
gentle  glance  he  threw  upon  her  from  his  large,  soft,  grey 
eyes. 

She  blushed  deeply,  but  recovering  in  a  moment,  said 
that  she  was  looking  for  a  friend,  and  would  be  greatly 
obliged  if  he  could  aid  her  in  her  search  for  Mr.  Brandon. 

"  It  will  give  me  the  greatest  pleasure  to  do  so,"  said 
Charles  Brandon,  for  it  was  he,  who  had  gone  to  Mr. 
Tyrrell's  house  after  the  family  had  left  it,  and  following 
them  to  the  Governor's,  had  arrived  but  a  few  moments 
before.  "  It  is  my  cousin  Randolph  whom  you  desire  to 
join,  and  do  I  not  speak  aright  as  I  address  Miss  Lucy 
Tyrrell  ?  " 

"  I  am  Miss  Tyrrell  in  Boston,  but  at  home  I  was  only 
Lucy." 

"And  Lucy  indeed  you  must  be  to  me,"  thought 
Charles.  "  Oh,  why  have  I  delayed  so  long  to  meet  you ! 
Pardon  me,"  he  said,  "  but  I  almost  fear  to  accost  your 
relatives,  I  have  so  neglected  ray  duty  toward  them. 
They  must  have  blamed  me." 

"  You  have  been  often  spoken  of,  but  with  kindness 
only  in  my  presence,  sir." 

"  I  do  not  merit  such  mild  treatment,  but  should  have 
been  happier  had  I  known  you  sooner,  for  you  too,  then, 
might  have  spoken  a  gentle  word." 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  forgive  the  repentant,  but  they  must 
sin  no  more.  But  here  are  our  friends  with  whom  you 
can  make  your  peace.  Me  you  have  not  yet  angered." 

"  I  never  shall,"  replied  Charles,  "  if  frequent  meetings 
ensure  friendship,"  and  by  Lucy's  side  he  remained  for 
the  evening.  If  his  dreams  that  night  were  not  of  her, 
surely  Blanche  Estcourt  did  not  claim  them. 

The  next  day,  and  the  next,  and  the  next  too,  he  was 


LUCY   IN    BOSTON.  67 

found  attentive  in  calling  at  the  Tyrrells,  and  assiduous 
indeed  in  seeking  opportunities  of  a  quiet  half  hour  with 
Lucy.  He  also  suddenly  took  great  interest  in  the  ap- 
proaching ceremony,  which  he  had  previously  regarded 
with  such  indifference,  that  Randolph  was  upon  the  point 
of  declaring  that  he  should  bear  no  part  in  it.  But  now 
he  was  to  serve,  and  with  whom  but  Lucy. 

Many  tunes  were  the  cousins  assembled  to  discuss  every 
item  connected  with  the  all-important  day;  at  last  it 
came,  radiant  as  if  for  the  marriage  feast  of  a  monarch. 

"What  need  to  say  more  of  it ;  of  the  bride,  of  her  six 
lovely  attendants,  Lucy  lovelier  than  all,  or  of  the  cere- 
mony itself,  but  that  it  was  performed  with  becoming 
solemnity  in  Hollis  Street  Church.  There,  tears  were 
rather  profusely  shed,  but  were  repaid  by  smiles  at  home 
when  the  bridal  banquet  followed ;  a  feast  made  brilliant 
by  the  sparkling  wit  of  the  officiating  clergyman,  the 
famous  pastor  Mather  Byles. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

"LOVE'S     DELIGHTFUL     STOEY." 

CIIAKLES  BRANDON  was  seated  alone  in  his  room,  in 
old  Massachusetts  Hall,  of  Harvard  College,  and  with 
vain  efforts  tried  to  fix  his  attention  on  the  task  before 
him,  in  preparation  for  a  coming  recitation.  But  his 
thoughts  wandered  from  the  page,  and  even  when  appa- 
rently occupied  with  watching  the  sports  of  his  fellow- 
students  on  the  Green,  his  gaze  was  vacant,  his  mind  was 
busy  elsewhere.  It  was  miles  away ;  it  was  with  Lucy 
Tyrrell.  With  the  utmost  loathing  only  could  he  now 
bind  himself  to  the  regular  trials  of  study,  which  had 
before  been  so  easy  to  him ;  he  read  nothing,  wrote  even 
to  his  parents  at  stated  intervals  with  reluctance,  and 
gave  up  almost  entirely  the  society  of  his  companions, 
who  could  not  understand  his  sudden  reserve.  He  with- 
drew from  their  sports  and  convivial  pleasures,  to  pass 
hours  wandering  alone  hi  the  neighboring  woods,  or  by 
the  banks  of  the  River  Charles,  in  poet  and  lover-like 
mood.  Now,  wrapped  as  he  was  in  thought  of  one  be- 
loved being,  he  experienced  for  the  first  time  the  grate- 
ful sense  of  solitude  to  indulge  his  dreams,  and  that  mor- 
bid dread  of  society  whose  slightest  sound  jarred  upon 
his  spirit.  He  thought,  hoped,  feared,  lived  only  for 
Lucy.  From  the  first  hour  he  had  seen  her,  instinctive 
passion  for  her  rose  within  him  ;  he  could  not  repress  or 
control  it ;  it  overmastered  him  with  its  strength ;  it 
swept  down  every  prudential  thought  of  hesitation ;  he 
felt,  he  knew,  that  his  earthly  destiny,  be  what  it  might, 
must  be  for  ever  swayed  by  her.  And  when  fully  con- 
(68) 


"  LOVE'S   DELIGHTFUL  STORY."  69 

scious  of  his  love,  it  took  such  utter  possession  of  him, 
that  he  had  no  power  to  stay  its  tide ;  he  gave  himself  up 
to  the  rapture  which  entranced  him,  and  unresisting 
floated  on  with  its  current. 

Could  he  but  three  short  months  since  have  dreamed 
of  one  so  lovely,  he  would  not  have  lost  by  his  own  folly 
so  many  hours  of  exquisite  delight,  nor  excluded  himself 
from  the  light  of  those  eyes  and  the  music  of  that  voice. 
How  for  an  instant  could  he  ever  have  been  beguiled  by 
Blanche  Estcourt ;  never  more  was  she  to  be  thought  or 
spoken  of;  he  did  not  love,  he  had  never  loved  her ;  a 
slight  interest,  a  little  tender  friendship  for  her,  that  was 
all ;  but  oh !  how  different  with  Lucy,  whose  first  glance 
fascinated  him,  the  very  light  of  love  streaming  from 
those  dark  blue  eyes !  He  thought  of  the  sounds  of  her 
voice  whose  accents  slightly  trembled  as  she  thanked  him 
for  his  courtesy  on  parting,  the  eloquent  thrill  in  the 
touch  of  her  fingers,  the  little  flower  which,  as  he  be- 
sought, she  drew  from  her  bosom,  and  gave  with  a  blush 
which  lent  a  new  glory  to  her  beauty.  Of  these  he 
dreamed  by  day  and  by  night,  and  asked  himself  many  a 
time  and  oft  if  what  he  felt  was  love,  and  the  heart  beat 
back  response,  Yes,  love ;  immortal,  eternal  love !  He 
went  forth  creature  of  another  mould,  with  no  present  or 
future,  but  in  her  existence ;  no  remembered  past,  but 
that  which  dated  from  the  hour  they  met,  a  past  not  fled 
irrevocably,  but  in  which  he  lived  and  loved,  and  drew, 
in  imagination,  to  his  own  breast  that  one  form  of  loveli- 
ness. 

And  her  destiny !  it  should  be  splendid,  the  thousand 
ills  of  life  should  not  vex  her;  he  was  rich  and  noble;  a 
lovelier  bride  should  grace  Kingwood  than  had  ever  yet 
trod  its  halls. 

His  fancy,  looking  far  into  the  future,  beheld  a  glorious 


70  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

prospect,  nor  recked  of  all  the  stumbling  blocks  of  earth 
which  lay  between. 

But  Lucy,  so  pure,  so  beautiful,  so  uncontaminate  with 
the  sins  of  the  world,  what  a  treasure  was  she  to  be  not 
only  to  him,  but  to  all  his  household ;  and  he  pictured 
many  a  scene  of  rapture,  many  a  vision  of  domestic  hap- 
piness, in  which  the  image  of  his  mother  with  a  beloved 
daughter  took  part.  His  father  would  regard  her  with 
different  motives;  she  would  minister  to  his  tastes  by 
personal  charms,  gratify  his  pride  by  the  striking  elegan- 
cies Of  exterior  grace,  and  though  a  portionless  bride  she 
would  enrich  Kingwood  far  beyond  the  wealth  which  an- 
cestral beauty  had  ever  brought  to  the  home  of  the 
Brandons.  Oh  !  golden  dreams  of  love,  heavenly  visions 
of  anticipation,  ye  go  far  to  redeem  the  soul  chained 
down  by  the  fetters  of  hard  life  ! 

Young,  romantic,  and  inexperienced,  Lucy  and  her 
lover — for  as  yet  love  spoke  but  in  looks — were  happy  in 
the  hours  they  passed  together,  and  every  moment  that 
Charles  could  steal  from  his  studies  was  spent  with  her, 
in  spite  of  the  frowns  of  grim  professors,  or  even  the 
aAvful  warning  from  President  Holyoke. 

They  passed  unheeded ;  what  knew  they  of  love  ?  How 
different  the  dull  formal  tasks  at  Cambridge,  the  bare  re- 
citation rooms,  from  the  little  quiet  curtained  parlor  ad- 
joining Mr.  Tyrrell's  library,  where  Lucy  kept  her  books 
and  met  her  teachers ;  there  he  sat  beside  her,  and  they 
studied  together. 

Masters  one  and  all  declared  that  such  astonishing  pro- 
gress was  never  made  before ;  ah !  they  little  knew  for 
whom,  or  by  whom  it  was  aided.  Charles  and  Lucy  read 
together ;  he  opened  to  her  the  page  of  history,  and,  by 
his  earnest  enthusiasm,  made  the  dullest  fact  a  thousand 
years  old  like  a  living  and  glowing  reality  of  the  present 


"  LOVE'S   DELIGHTFUL   STORY."  71 

to  her.  He  read  no  novels,  no  romances ;  these  were  in- 
terdicted. More  enchanting  to  her  the  story  of  a  heart 
which  she  studied  daily,  still  finding  it  daily  of  deeper 
interest.  But  into  the  rich  realms  of  English  poetry 
Charles  led,  and  taught  her  to  love  all  that  its  fields  offer 
in  immortal  bloom.  He  called  from  the  past  those 
iivinest  spirits,  prophets  unheeded  oft  in  their  day  and 
generation,  men  who  toiled  and  were  rewarded  not  in 
life,  who  offered  to  their  fellow-men  of  the  precious 
treasures  of  thoughts,  and  were  spurned  and  died  in 
poverty,  but  whom  a  later  and  better  age  loved  to  dwell 
upon,  lamenting  their  cruel  fate.  The  verse  of  Spenser, 
indent  though  it  was,  but  interpreted  by  Charles,  Lucy 
[earned  to  love,  and  to  mark  the  triumphs  of  the  Red 
Dross  Knight,  and  to  tremble  for  the  gentle  Una. 

From  Shakspeare,  as  play  succeeded  play,  Charles 
should  repeat  descriptions  of  every  noble  and  bewitching 
female  character ;  which  he  said,  might  justly  apply  to 
Lucy,  when  she  would  blush,  and  declare  it  was  not  so. 
A.  master  of  French  and  Italian,  he  loved  especially  the 
.angunge  of  Italy ;  and  who  can  wonder  that  she  soon  did 
;oo,  and  would  say  to  him,  when  he  came,  "  here  was  the 
joint  you  set  for  the  end  of  my  lesson ;  but  see  how  far 
[  have  gone  beyond  it ! "  Tasso  became  her  favorite, 
Because  his  verse  was  mucli  in  style  and,  partly  in  story, 
ike  her  cherished  Spenser,  and  because  of  the  sad  reality 
)f  his  woes.  She  read  of  his  prison  and  his  fetters,  and  of 
ris  hopeless  passion  for  the  royal  Leonora,  whose  love  for 
rim  was  given  in  return,  yet  could  not  bless  him.  Tears 
vet  her  cheeks,  as  Charles  told  of  having  visited  the  scene 
)f  his  triumph  and  misery,  how  his  memory  was  hallowed 
n  glorious  Italy ;  and  he  spoke  of  that  land,  the  poet's 
lome — whence  many  a  poet  yet  shall  draw  inspiration — 
)f  its  delicious  climate  and  golden  sunset  skies;  of  its 


72  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

temples  and  many  massy  piles  of  ruined  splendor ;  of  its 
paintings  and  breathing  statues ;  its  lakes,  its  vineyards, 
and  soaring  mountains ;  of  the  exquisite  bay  which  laves 
the  shores  of  Naples,  and  he  would  say, — "Oh,  Lucy, 
could  we  but  visit  that  clime  together,  your  life  should 
pass  like  a  delicious  romance ! "  And  Lucy  thought,  "  It 
is  a  romance  now." 

Thus  their  time  was  spent,  and  he  daily  became  more  in 
love  with  the  enchanting  girl,  though  he  forbore,  as  yet, 
to  declare  his  passion,  convinced  as  he  was  that  it  was 
returned. 

There  was  no  rival  in  the  field.  Lucy  received  few 
visitors,  and  perhaps  the  lovers  were  aided  by  Mr.  Tyr- 
rell, who  saw  with  delight,  the  course  of  affairs ;  and  who, 
to  Charles'  joy,  intimated  that  his  fair  niece  was  not  yet 
fairly  launched  upon  the  world — that  she  preferred  seclu- 
sion until  her  studies  were  finished.  Her  studies  finished ! 
she  found  them  now  so  delightful,  that  if  left  to  her 
own  choice,  they  would  never  have  been  completed. 
Randolph  felt  now  assured  that  he  need  entertain  no 
further  fears  on  Charles'  account  concerning  Blanche, 
and  bid  him  adieu  with  a  light  heart,  as  the  time  came 
for  him  once  more  to  visit  Kingwood. 

Lucy  said  farewell  to  him  with  oft  told  regrets ;  she 
should  lament  his  absence,  having  been  so  happy  in  his 
society,  and  would  be  glad  of  his  return ;  this  she  ex- 
pressed naturally  and  sweetly,  yet  without  the  least  ap- 
proach to  boldness.  Charles  could  scarce  forbear  to  de- 
clare his  love  for  her  on  the  instant. 

They  parted,  and  it  was  her  time  now  to  discover  how 
far  her  feelings  exceeded  those  of  friendship,  and  the  use- 
lessness  of  any  attempt  to  repress  them.  Her  happiness 
she  knew,  was  henceforth  and  forever,  bound  with  his 
own;  she  brooded  over  every  pleasure  which  he  had 


"  LOVE'S   DELIGHTFUL  STORY."  73 

shared,  her  spirit  followed  his,  and  she  prayed  for  his 
safety.  He  left  Lucy  but  for  a  brief  season,  and  returned 
more  than  ever  anxious  to  clasp  her  to  his  heart  as 
his  own. 

His  mother  had  marked  the  change  in  him ;  how  he 
mused  alone  for  hours,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
was  desirous  of  soon  parting  from  her,  to  return  to  the 
north — how  he  shunned  company,  and  beyond  all,  avoided 
the  least  mention  of  Blanche. 

His  father  took  little  or  no  notice  of  his  altered  mood ; 
for  he  was  now  immersed,  more  than  ever,  in  his  genea- 
logical work,  having  just  reached  the  scent  of  something 
peculiarly  mouldy,  and  consequently  of  immense  value. 
Mrs.  Brandon  gradually  drew  the  truth  from  her  son, 
and  gently  chiding  him  for  not  having  sooner  informed 
her,  entered  into  his  feelings,  and  assured  him  of  all  her 
motherly  aid  and  countenance.  She  could  not  tell  how 
Lucy  would  please  his  father,  but  she  had  her  fears. 

Charles  saw  Blanche  but  once;  even  then  the  mere 
effort  of  talking  to  her,  proved  intolerable.  His  indiffer- 
ence caused  the  poor  girl  a  bitter  pang,  and  she  could  not 
account  for  it. 

But  to  her  mother's  keen  vision,  the  cause  was  appar- 
ent ;  it  was  a  dagger  to  her  breast,  and  she  vowed  that, 
come  what  might,  he  should  never  wed  another  than  her 
child.  She  cursed  the  opportunity  that  led  him  again  to 
the  north,  and  the  intervening  months  ere  he  would 
return  to  leave  no  more.  But  why  should  she  distress 
herself;  it  was  but  some  boyish,  silly,  witless  love,  which 
he  dared  not  speak  of  to  his  parents,  or  she  would  hear 
of  it.  It  would  soon  be  forgotten,  and  then; — she 
clenched  her  hand,  that  brow  corrugated  with  dark,  stern 
purpose,  the  haughty  lip  curled,  and  the  eye  flashed  with 
4 


74  BRANDON  ;    OB,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

anticipated  triumph.  She,  Mildred  Estcourt,  should  yet 
rule  him  and  his,  with  a  rod  of  iron,  and  before  long ! 

We  leave  her  for  the  present,  and  return  to  Lucy. 

With  the  same  frankness  and  sincerity  which  she  had 
manifested  on  Charles'  departure,  she  now  joyfully  met 
him  on  his  return ;  but,  in  a  short  tune,  he  observed  that 
she  was  more  quiet  and  abstracted  than  he  had  ever 
known  her  before — that  she  was  more  shy,  less  eager  to 
avail  herself  of  his  teachings.  He  divined  the  cause,  he 
now  felt  assured  that  she  loved  as  passionately  as  he 
did ;  to  keep  silence  longer,  was  in  the  power  of  neither. 
They  saw  love  in  each  other's  glances;  it  burned  for 
utterance  in  their  words,  even  their  silence  was  eloquent, 
when  he  took  her  hand  in  his  own,  and  she  did  not  with- 
draw it.  They  entered  the  garden.  It  was  a  summer's 
night,  and  a  young  moon  faintly  lit  the  leafy  recesses, 
and  gleamed  on  the  little  jet,  which  arose  from  the  marble 
basin,  and  threw  its  spray  back  upon  the  waters  with 
a  ceaseless  plash.  Thoy  paused  near  a  favorite  spot  of 
theirs,  decorated  by  a  vase  in  which  bloomed  fragrant 
roses.  They  saw  the  tree  tops,  silvered  by  the  moon, 
wave  against  the  dark  sky;  the  rustle  of  the  leaves 
mingled  with  the  voice  of  falling  waters.  Charles  held 
Lucy's  hand  in  his ;  it  felt  cold,  and  she  trembled. 

"  Do  you  fear,  dear  Lucy  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No,  what  should  I  fear  when  you  are  with  me !" 

"  My  own  Lucy,  I  love  you.  From  our  first  meeting 
you  have  been  dear  to  me,  and  if  your  heart  is  mine,  let 
me  hear  so  from  your  lips." 

Lucy  turned  her  face  to  his,  and  looking  into  his  eyes 
with  deep,  tender  trust,  and  holy  reliance,  answered  :  "  I 
am  yours  for  time  and  eternity,  and  from  this  night  you 
will  have  my  love  as  fervid  and  unalterable  as  ever  wo- 


"LOVE'S   DELIGHTFUL  STORY."  75 

man  gave."  As  she  thus  spoke,  Charles  drew  her  closer 
to  him,  and  beneath  the  ever  radiant  stars,  the  altar 
lamps  of  God's  temple,  they  vowed  their  deathless  love. 
And  never  did  heaven  witness  a  purer  embrace  than  the 
clasp  of  those  two  beings,  nor  a  sweeter  joy  than  thrilled 
on  the  innocent  lips  of  Lucy  Tyrrell. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

MISFOETUNB. 

"  I  AM  anxiously  waiting  to  hear  from  home,  my  dearest 
Lucy,"  said  Charles  Brandon ;  "  although  I  know  the 
news  of  our  engagement  could  only  give  my  parents  the 
greatest  delight." 

"  And  I  am  anxious  too,  Charles,  for  during  the  last 
four  days  I  could  not  help  feeling  sad,  in  spite  of  myself. 
I  cannot  bear  to  tell  of  what  will  seem  to  you  needless 
fear;  but  a  presentiment  has  come  over  me,  I  cannot 
shake  it  off,  that  our  trials  are  to  begin  soon." 

"  Do  not  think  so,  Lucy,  chase  away  your  idle  fears ; 
there  is  no  danger,  'tis  merely  some  dream  that  haunts 
you." 

"  I  hope  so,"  and  Lucy  sighed,  but  not  wishing  to  pain 
Charles  by  her  anxiety,  she  tried  to  smile  again. 

"  You  tell  me  your  mother  looks  like  you,  dear  Charles, 
do  you  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  said  so." 

"  Then  I  shall  love  her." 

"  And  she  will  love  you,  Lucy,  and  my  father  will,  too. 
Ours  is  a  beautiful  home,  and  you  will  gladly  see  it. 
Nothing  in  this  colony  at  all  resembles  it ;"  and  Charles 
gave  her  a  description  of  Kingwood. 

"  It  must  be  beautiful ;  how  much  have  I  to  see  and 
learn.  And  you,  in  turn,  must  come  with  me  to  the 
island.  Have  you  never  really  beheld  the  sea  ?" 

"  No,  bright  one,  but  you  shall  teach  me  how  to  view 
it.  You  love  the  ocean  ?" 

"  Yes,  from  my  very  childhood ;  come  with  me  and  sit 
(76) 


MISFORTUNE.  77 

upon  the  rocks,  I  will  show  you  the  glories  of  the  waters. 
You  will  love  to  watch  the  curl  of  the  billows,  the  blue 
distant  surge,  the  flashing  eddies  at  your  feet ;  and  listen 
to  the  sound  of  the  grating  pebbles  on  the  lonely  beach." 

"  I  will,  indeed  ;  and  will  your  parents  be  glad  to  see 
me?" 

Lucy's  forebodings  again  recurred  to  her,  and  she  was 
silent. 

For  a  brief  season  now,  all  was  ecstasy  with  the  lovers. 
But  their  happiness  was  not  fated  to  endure.  Like  the 
sea,  of  which  they  spoke,  and  which  from  settled  stillness 
rages  in  an  hour ;  as  the  brightest  sky  is  overclouded, 
and  the  lightning's  flash  darts  through,  so  their  halcyon 
calm  was  soon  broken. 

The  first  ill  news  came  from  Charles'  mother,  to  whom 
he,  as  well  as  Randolph  had  written,  detailing  a  full  ac- 
count of  his  love,  and  anticipating  nothing  in  return  but 
the  readiest  acquiescence.  The  answer,  long  delayed  by 
the  infrequent  post  of  those  days,  filled  them  with  dread 
and  sorrow. 

Part  of  the  letter  ran  thus :  "  Oh  my  son,  you  can  scarce 
imagine  the  anguish  with  which  I  write  to  you  now.  I 
have  had  sleepless  sorrow.  You  know  that  I  was  the 
partaker  of  your  joys  and  hopes  hi  Lucy ;  but  how  much 
do  I  blame  myself  for  my  imprudence  in  permitting  you 
to  leave  us,  and  your  father  ignorant  of  your  love.  He 
would  doubtless  have  refused  his  consent,  as  he  does  at 
present,  but  your  misery  would  not  then  have  been 
aggravated  by  the  rupture  of  bands  of  affection.  But 
now  you  must  endure  the  double  pangs  of  exile  and  re- 
cantation. I  can  scarce  speak  of  your  father.  I  have 
never  before  seen  him  so  angry ;  never  dreamed  that  he 
could  be  excited  to  such  a  pitch  of  frenzy.  He  will  dwell 
upon  no  other  topic.  He  forbids  your  love,  resolved,  as 


78  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS    AGO. 

he  says,  that  with  his  countenance  you  shall  never  wed 
a  portionless  stranger  beneath  your  own  rank  in  life.  If 
you  wish  to  preserve  his  friendship,  you  must  abandon  at 
once  and  forever  all  hopes  of  Lucy.  Else  he  bids  me  say 
he  will  cast  you  off  for  life,  and  I  surely  know  that  he 
will  keep  his  word.  My  prayers  and  tears  are  all  in  your 
behalf,  but  I  cannot  prevail  with  your  father.  He  goes 
very  shortly  to  the  north.  I  must  not  counsel  you  to 
resist  him,  but  may  God  help  you  to  change  his  purpose, 
as  I  have  failed  to." 

Lucy  had  soon  also  from  her  father  a  long  epistle,  in 
which  he  wrote  more  harshly  than  he  had  ever  spoken  to 
her  in  his  life.  He  blamed  her  exceedingly  for  encour- 
aging the  intimacy,  and  suffering  it  to  proceed  to  such  a 
length  without  consulting  him.  He  expressed  entire  dis- 
approval of  the  engagement,  and  pained  her  most  cruelly 
by  an  accusation  of  duplicity,  which  her  total  silence 
regarding  it  in  numerous  letters,  led  him  to  impute  to 
her.  "  Duplicity  !"  said  the  poor  girl,  "  that  is  too  hard 
indeed.  I  did  not  tell  him,  simply  because  uncle,  against 
ray  remonstrances,  insisted  on  doing  so  himself,  saying 
that  he  could  act  for  me  better  than  I  could." 

Mr.  Tyrrell  in  truth  had  written,  giving  a  glowing 
description  of  Lucy's  splendid  prospects  in  life,  but  it  is  in 
vain  to  conjecture  her  father's  strong  repugnance  to  the 
tuiion.  Perhaps  he  was  influenced  by  the  thought  of  his 
daughter's  removal  from  him  to  the  south,  or  his  pride 
was  touched  by  her  silence  when  she  ought  to  have  told 
him  all. 

As  soon  as  her  uncle  discovered  the  cause  of  her  sadness 
he  tried  to  comfort  her,  told  her  to  dry  her  tears  and  all 
would  yet  be  well ;  and  the  kind  old  gentleman  really 
thought  he  could  do  much,  and  that  the  lovers  might  fear 
nothing.  But  they  both  were  filled  with  sadness,  and 


MISFORTUNE.  79 

only  anticipated  disaster,  in  spite  of  their  efforts  to  cheer 
each  other.  But  each  assured  the  other  of  unalterable 
affection,  and  now  the  strong  love  of  the  tender  woman 
manifested  itself  in  a  thousand  ways  to  encourage  her 
desponding  lover. 

"  We  are  both  very  young,  dear  Charles,"  she  would 
say ;  "  we  shall  love  each  other  all  the  more  for  our  trials ; 
let  us  be  true  to  each  other,  and  in  time  our  parents  will 
relent ;  heaven  will  join  our  hands  at  last.  But  fondly  as 
I  love  you,  I  could  not  be  yours  without  the  sanction  of 
my  father  and  mother.  I  could  not  commit  so  dreadful  a 
sin." 

Charles  told  her  that  he  thought  as  she  did  now,  but 
that  if  tune  produced  no  change  in  his  father  he  should 
certainly  in  a  few  years  feel  released  from  his  authority, 
and  could  she  not  also  be  independent  ?  Lucy  mournfully 
shook  her  head,  but  made  no  reply. 

Her  father  shortly  came,  and  after  long  interviews  with 
her  and  with  his  cousin  Edward,  acknowledged  that  he 
had  been  too  harsh,  and  took  his  daughter  fondly  to  his 
arms  again.  He  saw  Charles  too,  having  much  talk  with 
him,  ai\d  it  is  more  than  likely  that  had  everything 
depended  solely  on  the  pastor,  the  two  lovers  might 
eventually  have  been  happily  united,  although  he  now 
withheld  his  consent.  But  when  Mr.  Brandon  came,  his 
mood  was  very  different.  A  short  angry  note  to  his  son 
announced  his  immediate  advent,  and  he  proceeded  at 
once  to  the  university  being  unwilling  to  stay  an  hour  in 
Boston.  His  language  too  well  agreed  with  Mrs.  Brandon's 
description  of  it,  he  would  listen  to  no  reason ;  the  connec- 
tion must  at  once  be  broken  off,  or  he  would  cast  his  son 
from  him.  It  was  only  after  long  persuasion,  indeed 
threats  from  Charles  not  to  return  at  all  to  Virginia,  unless 
he  altered  his  tone,  that  he  consented  to  see  even  Lucy's 


80  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

relatives,  he  positively  refusing  to  meet  her  upon  any 
terms.  But  the  meetings  which  took  place  accordingly 
were  productive  of  no  good.  He  first  saw  Randolph  and 
rated  him  severely,  being  scarce  less  angry  with  him 
than  with  Charles. 

He  accused  him  of  betraying  the  interests  of  his  son, 
by  leading  him  into  marriage  with  an  inferior,  and  also  of 
abusing  the  hospitality  of  his  house. 

"I  have  abused  the  hospitality  of  no  man's  house," 
replied  the  fiery  nephew,  "  but  I  have  favored  Charles' 
intimacy  with  Lucy,  and  am  proud  to  have  done  so.  She 
is  one  of  the  sweetest  ladies  that  ever  breathed,  worthy 
indeed  of  my  cousin,  and  at  any  moment  your  equal." 

"  Equal,  sir !  equal,  do  you  mean  to  say,  to  the  blood  of 
the  ancient  Brandons  ?" 

"  The  ancient  Brandons !  let  them  rest  in  their  graves. 
Equal  to  them,  yes ;  superior  to  any  of  those  beauties  at 
Kingwood ;  some  few  of  whom  at  least  were  more 
celebrated  for  fine  eyes  than  virtue.  Are  we  to  love  and 
marry  only  to  please  dead  aristocrats  ?  What  is  your 
wish,  a  princess  for  your  son  ?  Act  the  part  of  a  man  of 
sense,  and  see  Lucy  Tyrrell  before  pursuing  the  cruel 
course  you  are  about  to,  of  ruining  the  happiness  of 
Charles." 

"  No,  Randolph,  I  will  not  see  her,  but  I  will  speak  to 
your  wife." 

"  You  shall  not  do  so,  sir,  as  long  as  you  conduct  your- 
self thus ;  she  loves  her  cousin,  whom  she  at  least  con- 
siders her  equal,  and  any  insult  to  Lucy  is  shared  by 
Matilda.  I  shall  neither  permit  you  to  see  her  now,  nor 
in  Virginia,  whither  we  go  shortly.  Have  you  already 
resolved  on  whom  Charles  shall  be  made  to  bestow  his 
hand  ?  " 

"  I  have,  some  time  since." 


MISFORTUNE.  81 

"  Who  is  she  ?  " 

"  You  probably  know  already,  it  is  Blanche  Estcourt ; 
she  is  the  one  appointed  for  Charles." 

"  I  thought  as  much ;  now  listen  to  me,  uncle.  If  your 
son  Charles,  forgetting  the  love  he  bears  to  Lucy  Tyrrell, 
who  is  so  worthy  of  it,  should  ever  consent  to  marry  the 
daughter  of  that  vile  Mildred  Estcourt,  he  will  prove  a 
fool  as  well  as  deceiver,  and  I  will  cast  him  off  forever. 
But  he  does  not  love  Blanche ;  he  cannot  consent ;  and 
if  he  is  resolved  to  resist  your  will  in  regard  to  her,  he 
will  have  all  aid  from  me,  and  never  shall  be  forced  into 
such  a  connection.  Little  does  her  mother  know,  more 
than  you  do,  why  I  am  thus  determined.  Mildred  Est- 
court is  steeped  to  the  lips  in  crime,  but  her  evil  deeds 
will  not  forever  remain  veiled  from  the  public  eye.  Rave 
as  you  will,  sir,  Charles  shall  not  marry  Blanche,"  and  so 
saying,  Randolph  left  Mr.  Brandon,  in  what  frame  of  mind 
may  be  better  imagined  than  described. 

Nor  did  he  derive  more  satisfaction  from  his  interview 
with  Matilda's  father.  The  meeting  was  short,  stormy, 
and  purposeless ;  and  Mr.  Tyrrell  congratulated  Randolph 
on  having  for  an  uncle  the  most  preposterous,  obstinate 
old  fool  that  he  had  ever  seen  in  his  life. 

Lucy's  father  was  even  more  justly  incensed  with  his 
behavior. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  haughty  southron,  "  my  son  may  marry 
your  daughter  if  he  pleases;  but  if  he  dares  do  it  he  is  no 
longer  a  son  of  mine." 

Kindling  with  just  indignation,  Mr.  Tyrrell  returned, 
"  When  your  son,  sir,  has  my  permission  to  aspire  to  the 
hand  of  my  daughter,  it  will  be  quite  time  to  refuse'your 
consent.  Until  then  you  can  spare  the  expression  of 
your  edict,  and  there  will  be  no  further  conference  be- 
tween us." 

4* 


82     BRANDON  ;  OR,  A  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 

No  entreaties  availed  from  Charles  or  Lucy ;  the  angry 
sires  were  inexorable,  and  indulging  their  own  resentful 
feelings,  appeared  to  forget  the  happiness  of  their  chil- 
dren. 

But  there  was  one  meeting  for  which  Mr.  Brandon  was 
quite  unprepared.  Lucy  had  heard  of  some  of  his  ex- 
pressions regarding  her  plebeian  rank,  and  her  desire  of 
alliance  with  his  son,  from  ambitious  motives.  "Without 
informing  any  one  of  her  plan,  she  resolved  to  confront 
him.  He  came  to  the  house  for  some  purpose,  and  while 
seated  alone,  was  surprised  by  the  appearance  of  a  tall, 
elegant  looking  young  lady,  who  suddenly  stood  before 
him,  pale,  but  perfectly  composed,  with  eyes  that  looked 
disdain.  Her  lips  quivered  for  an  instant,  then  she  said 
haughtily : 

"You  are  Mr.  Brandon  of  Kingwood.  My  name  is 
Lucy  Tyrrell.  In  me  you  behold  the  woman  of  whom 
you  have  spoken  with  coarse,  brutal  invective ;  did  you 
dream  that  I  was  to  hear  of  it  tamely  without  daring  to 
resent  it  ?  I  am  humble  and  poor,  but  thanks  to  kind 
heaven,  not  dependent  for  bread  on  you.  Fear  not  that 
I  should  ever  cross  your  path  again ;  look  upon  me  for  the 
first  ail*!  last  time  ;  do  I  appear  like  one  who  would  fawn 
for  your  favors  ?  Were  you  the  lord  of  twenty  manors 
like  your  own,  and  all  at  your  disposal,  you  would  wait 
long  before  I  would  accept  the  gift  of  one  poor  acre. 
Your  broad  lands  have  as  little  value  in  my  estimation  as 
your  proud  pedigree ;  yours  may  be  the  blood  of  nobles, 
but  mine  would  curdle  in  my  veins  before  I  could  stoop 
to  dishonor.  And  now  you  have  seen  me  whom  you  so 
despised ;  remember  the  meeting,  and  that  I  would  not 
permit  one  syllable  from  you  in  reply." 

She  withdrew  her  gaze  and  was  passing  from  the  room. 
"Stay  a  moment,"  he  exclaimed,  while  rising.  She  turned, 


MISFORTUNE.  83 

waved  him  off  with  an  imperious  gesture,  and  giving  him 
one  look  of  contempt,  silently  retired. 

Mr.  Brandon  was  indeed  astounded ;  he  had  thought 
Lucy  a  rustic,  an  awkward,  bashful  child,  and  he  had  been 
completely  awed  by  this  lofty  beauty.  Perhaps  if  he 
had  seen  more  of  her,  and  in  a  different  mood,  he  might 
have  thought  her  better  fitted  to  grace  the  Brandon 
family.  But  she  had  so  completely  and  scornfully  repelled 
him,  so  utterly  overborne  him  with  contempt,  that  it  was 
long  before  he  ceased  to  feel  the  effects  of  her  stinging 
words.  He  took  comfort,  however,  finally,  knowing  that 
he  should  see  no  more  of  her,  and  hoping  that  his  son 
would  soon  forget  his  passion. 

Lucy  was  now  to  return  to  the  island  with  her  father. 
She  would  permit  Charles  to  be  bound  by  no  actual  en- 
gagement, but  exchanged  with  him  some  golden  tokens  of 
remembrance,  and  each  solemnly  promised  to  be  true  to  the 
other.  The  long  and  sad  farewell  was  spoken,  and  with  an 
aching  heart,  Charles  accompanied  Lucy  to  the  packet  in 
which  she  was  to  sail  for  home,  her  father  making  no 
objection  to  this  act.  The  wind  was  fair,  the  canvas 
spread,  and  Lucy  leaned  over  the  vessel's  side,  giving 
him  her  last  look  of  unutterable  tenderness.  The  bark 
moved  on,  bearing  its  p*recious  freight  far  from  him  she 
loved ;  and  Charles  stood  watching  the  receding  sail  until 
its  faintest  trace  was  lost  in  the  waters. 


CHAPTER    X. 

A   MEETING   AND   A   LETTER. 

A  FEW  weeks  after  Lucy's  departure,  Charles'  career 
at  the  college  was  ended.  He  felt  no  interest  in  the 
exercises  of  commencement  day,  or  the  part  he  performed 
in  them,  for  Lucy  was  not  present  to  listen  and  smile 
upon  him. 

With  a  heavy  heart  he  made  his  arrangements  for 
returning  to  Virginia.  For  the  last  time  he  strolled  along 
the  avenue  where  he  had  frequently  walked  before,  enjoy- 
ing happy  thoughts.  He  now  passed  a  house  which  he 
had  always  remarked  as  one  of  the  largest  and  most  ele- 
gant in  Cambridge.  This  noble  mansion  was  of  square 
proportions,  and,  standing  back  some  distance  from  the 
street,  was  elevated  above  two  or  three  successive  terraces, 
which  were  planted  with  trees  and  shrubbery. 

It  was  evidently  the  home  of  some  rich  personage ;  and 
its  owner,  Mr.  Lascelles,  had  the  reputation  of  wealth 
without  refinement,  and  of  fondness  for  coarse  convivial 
pleasures.  As  Charles  paused  before  the  gate  of  the  en- 
closure, the  door  of  the  house  opened,  and  Mr.  Lascelles 
himself  came  forth,  equipped  in  long  boots  for  riding,  and 
ready  to  mount  a  fine  horse  which  stood  saddled  for  him. 
Brandon  felt  only  aversion  for  Lascelles ;  he  did  not  knoAV 
him,  had  never  spoken  to  him  in  his  life,  but  had  taken  a 
dislike  to  his  appearance  from  the  first  time  of  seeing  him. 
Lascelles  was  but  a  few  years  older  than  he  was ;  but  the 
haughty  manner  in  which  he  always  conducted  himself 
towards  the  students  of  the  university,  had  doubtless  been 
felt  by  the  sensitive,  proud  Virginian.  The  horseman 

(84) 


A   MEETING   AND   A   LETTER.  85 

now  came  on,  swinging  a  light  whip  and  humming  a  tune, 
while  a  look  of  mingled  hauteur  and  insolence  (or  what 
Charles  conceived  to  be  such,)  appeared  on  his  face,  which 
apparently  intimated,  "  Get  out  of  my  way ! " 

Very  probably  Mr.  Lascelles  had  no  such  intention,  and 
was  ignorant  of  the  construction  put  upon  his  demeanor ; 
but  Charles,  although  he  had  no  reason  to  quarrel,  long 
retained  a  disagreeable  impression  of  him  which  he  could 
not  account  for.  Such  superstitions  may  be  "  trifles  light 
as  air,"  but  at  times  we  do  meet  persons  with  whom  we 
link  associations  of  the  most  unpleasant  nature,  as  if  they 
were  fated  to  exert  evil  influence  upon  us. 

On  leaving  college,  Charles  addressed  a  letter  to  one 
of  his  classmates,  whom  he  had  intrusted  with  a  knowl- 
edge of  his  love  affairs.  It  was  written  a  few  days  after 
Lucy  had  gone.  We  have  seen  this  letter ;  its  style  is 
old-fashioned  now,  but  we  give  it  exactly  as  it  reads : 

"  Lucy  went  last  week.  I  knew  not  how  much  I  loved, 
and  was  beloved  by,  that  dear  girl,  until  we  parted. 
Considering  the  parity  of  our  fortunes,  and  the  spirit  of 
our  parents,  prudence  forbid  an  union;  and  I  urged 
every  argument  to  convince  my  sweet  friend  of  the  abso- 
lute necessity  of  separation,  though  at  the  very  moment 
the  bare  idea  was  pain,  was  torture  inexpressible.  She  is 
a  most  amiable  creature,  and  I  am  convinced  if  either  of 
us  possessed  a  competence,  both  might  be  happy. 

"  We  parted  with  mutual  professions  of  the  most  deli- 
cate esteem,  without  any  actual  engagements,  or  expec- 
tations of  seeing  each  other  again;  but  time  shall  not 
efface  the  deep  impressions  love  hath  made.  Adieu, 
Lucy! 

"  I  never  felt  the  weighty  curse  of  poverty  until  now. 
A  little  wealth  might  have  bought  my  felicity,  might 


86  BRANDON  ;    OE,  A   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

have  secured  the  happiness  of  two  too-fond  friends.  But 
cruel  necessity  obliged  me  to  tear  myself  from  her ;  with 
this  aggravation  to  my  wretchedness,  that  my  generous 
girl  must  also  suffer  the  pangs  of  separation." 

Thus  Charles  Brandon  had,   in  less  than   one   year, 
learned  what  it  was  to  love,  and  to  be  miserable  I 


CHAPTER    XI. 

KANDOLPH'S  HOME. 

THE  family  at  Kingwood  were  again  assembled,  as  in 
former  days.  Charles  was  once  more  at  home,  with  no 
prospect  of  speedily  revisiting  the  north.  Nothing  bright 
surrounded  him;  he  was  a  prey  to  discontent,  and  the 
misery  of  requited  but  hopeless  love.  He  poured  out  to 
his  mother  the  whole  history  of  his  unfortunate  passion ; 
he  found  relief  in  so  doing,  and  consolation  in  her  sym- 
pathies. She  urged  him  not  to  abandon  hope,  to  act  the 
part  of  a  kind  and  affectionate  son,  and  that  his  father 
must  eventually  change  his  views. 

"  At  all  events,  Charles,  you  would  consent  to  no  other 
union,  one  which  you  know  would  cause  me  unhappi- 
ness?" 

Charles  easily  understood  that  her  meaning  referred  to 
Blanche,  and  he  eagerly  assured  her  that  she  need  have 
no  fears.  Fate  might  forever  prevent  him  from  marriage 
with  the  woman  he  loved ;  but  he  would  never  be  forced 
into  a  connection  repugnant  to  his  principles,  even  to 
please  the  best  father  in  the  world. 

Mrs.  Brandon  heard  this  with  secret  joy ;  for  she  had 
feared  that  Charles  might  in  time  be  induced  to  look 
upon  Blanche  with  favor,  and  then  there  could  be  no  bar 
to  their  union. 

The  father,  now  that  he  had  secured  his  son  once  more 
safely  under  his  own  eye,  was  disposed,  for  a  time  at 
least,  to  allow  him  liberty;  he  suffered  him  to  pass  his 
days  after  his  own  desire;  did  not  hint  to  him  to  seek 
society ;  nor  did  he  once  introduce  the  name  of  Blanche 

(8T) 


88  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

Estcourt.  Time,  he  thought,  would  be  the  best  disposer 
of  events ;  before  long  his  son's  grief  would  be  dissipated, 
he  would  again  become  pleased  with  the  glitter  of  the 
world,  and  then  a  favorable  opportunity  would  occur  for 
consummating  his  project. 

Mr.  Brandon  was  not  altogether  ruled  by  the  insane 
purpose  of  making  his  son  think  and  act  as  he  himself 
did;  he  had  no  such  tyrannical  motive,  but,  what  he 
deemed  Charles'  real  good,  at  heart;  and  with  a  rich, 
loving,  and  beautiful  wife,  as  Blanche  would  prove, 
thought  he  could  not  fail  to  be  happy. 

He  loved  his  son ;  was  proud  of  his  appearance  and 
talents.  What  he  did,  harsh  as  it  really  was,  was  dictated 
only  by  mistaken  pride,  and  a  false  estimate  of  the  hap- 
piness of  his  heir. 

Thus  some  fathers  judged  a  hundred  years  ago,  as  some 
do  even  at  the  present  day. 

Randolph  Brandon  had  come  with  his  lovely  bride  to 
Virginia ;  but,  incensed  as  he  was  with  his  uncle,  refused 
to  visit  Kingwood,  although  urged  to  do  so  by  Mrs. 
Brandon,  who  greeted  Matilda  most  cordially  in  Williams- 
burg.  He  settled  on  an  estate  of  his  own,  half  a  day's 
journey  from  Kingwood ;  and,  blessed  with  an  affectionate 
wife  and  an  independent  fortune,  thoroughly  tired  of 
roaming,  and  not  ambitious  of  political  preferment  in  the 
colony,  he  was  naturally  fitted  for  the  quiet  enjoyments 
of  home.  A  few  months  after  his  marriage,  one  might 
have  imagined  him  a  husband  of  ten  years,  such  de-light 
did  his  own  fireside  afford  him. 

Charles,  finding  it  impossible  to  shake  off  his  melan- 
choly, determined  to  accept  Randolph's  invitation  to  visit 
him;  and,  although  change  of  scene  brought  notennini- 
tion  to  his  wretchedness,  it  was  soothed  in  some  degree 
by  the  kindness  of  Matilda.  How  pleasing  he  thought 


RANDOLPH'S  HOME.  89 

the  change  which  had  so  soon  taken  place  in  her.  Before 
marrying  he  had  considered  her  rather  uninteresting  and 
indolent,  if  not  at  times  silly ;  but  now  she  was  trans- 
formed into  an  active,  sweet-tempered,  fascinating  little 
housewife.  She  was  anxious  to  do  every  thing  which 
could  contribute  to  the  charms  of  her  household,  and  was 
also  much  advanced  in  mental  power  from  contact  with 
her  high-souled  and  lofty,  but  kind,  indulgent  husband. 

"If  Matilda  is  thus  improved  by  marriage,"  he 
thought,  "  oh !  what  would  dear  Lucy  be,  who  is  by  na- 
ture so  superior." 

Matilda  said  nothing  to  him  about  his  love  affairs ;  she 
thought  it  best  to  let  him  brood  over  those  sacred  subjects 
in  silence,  but  she  adopted  a  hundred  kind  winning  ways 
of  diverting  his  thoughts  from  melancholy.  She  would 
sometimes  say — 

"  Come,  cousin,  Randolph  has  to  leave  home  to-day,  and 
I  expect  you  to  help  me  greatly  in  his  absence ;"  or  at 
another  time,  "It  is  a  fine  day,  cousin,  and  as  I  have 
nothing  to  do  just  now,  you  must  drive  me  in  the  park ;" 
or  again,  "  Though  I  am  married,  I  must  not  give  up  all 
my  accomplishments,  and  you  must  now  instruct  me  for 
an  hour  in  drawing,  as  you  promised."  Then  her  pretty 
black  eyes  would  sparkle,  and  she  would  thank  him  for 
his  kindness  so  sweetly,  that  she  almost  made  him  forget 
his  misery. 

He  often  busied  himself  in  gazing  at  her  when  she  did 
not  observe  him,  marking  any  slight  look  or  motion 
which  reminded  him  of  Lucy.  He  read  much  to  her  as 
he  Avas  wont  to  his  beloved,  and  dwelt  upon  those  scenes 
and  passages  in  the  poets,  endeared  to  him  by  Lucy's 
love  of  them.  Matilda,  with  a  woman's  tact,  fancying 
that  he  took  delight  in  these  because  her  cousin  did, 
would  frequently  urge  him  to  read  some  piece  that  he 


90  BRANDON  ;    OR,    A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

suggested,  being  sure  that  it  was  a  former  favorite.  She 
was  an  accomplished  musician  for  that  day,  and  made  his 
evenings  pass  more  cheerfully  by  playing  for  him  upon 
her  harpsichord,  accompanying  its  measure  by  her  de- 
lightful voice. 

She  thought  the  cloud  was  gradually  lifting  from  his 
mind,  and  she  urged  Randolph  to  induce  him  to  stay 
with  them  as  long  as  he  could  conveniently  absent  him- 
self from  Kingwood.  Randolph's  care  led  Charles  more 
to  out-of-door  exercise,  which  he  judged  far  better  for  his 
health  than  brooding  hi  solitary  thought  over  one  fatal 
passion.  He  often  endeavored  to  enliven  his  charge  by 
making  him  join  in  a  deer-hunt,  which  in  those  days 
afforded  better  sport  than  can  be  had  now,  and  many  a 
fat  buck  was  the  reward  of  their  sharp  rifle  practice. 

Randolph's  mansion  was  especially  delightful  to  Charles, 
for  he  heard  no  syllable  of  Blanche,  and  saw  nothing  of 
her  mother  as  he  did  at  home ;  for  that  maneuvering  lady 
was  in  the  habit  of  making  friendly  calls  upon  Mrs. 
Brandon,  with  kind  inquiries  for  her  health ;  but  her  visits 
were  in  reality  meant  for  the  son.  She  had  not  paid  her 
respects  to  Matilda  on  her  arrival  in  Virginia,  being  de- 
termined to  see  no  more  of  Randolph,  whose  ill  will  she 
returned  with  cordial  hate ;  but  when  she  learned  that 
Charles  was  staying  at  his  house,  she  suddenly  recollected 
her  duty,  and  went  with  a  thousand  apologies  for  delay, 
and  the  warmest  welcome  to  the  bride.  Her  advances 
were  coolly  received,  her  visit  unnoticed,  and  on  her  next 
meeting  with  Randolph  in  Williamsburg,  his  profound 
bow  was  returned  by  a  dead  stare  which  only  caused  the 
imperturbable  gentleman  to  rejoice  that  his  wife  would 
not  again  be  annoyed  by  her  attentions. 

Randolph,  on  one  occasion,  asked  Charles  if  ho  had 
written  to  Lucy  since  he  parted  from  her.  Yes,  he 


RANDOLPH'S  HOME.  91 

had  several  times,  but  without  any  reply,  and  as  sufficient 
time  must  have  elapsed  for  her  answer  to  reach  him,  he 
knew  not  what  to  think.  He  felt  despondent,  and  had 
despatched  another  letter,  in  which  he  begged  her  to  let 
him  hear  from  her,  if  it  was  but  a  word. 

"  How  were  those  letters  sent  ?"  asked  Randolph.  "  In 
the  usual  manner  from  Kingwood  to  Williamsburg, 
thence  to  go  northward  by  post." 

"  So  I  supposed ;  are  you  sure,  however,  that  your  fa- 
ther has  not  detained  them  ?" 

"  He  could  not  have  done  so,  I  provided  against  such 
a  contingency,  and  always  sent  them  by  special  messen- 
ger to  the  capital ;  it  is  impossible  that  he  could  ever 
have  seen  one  of  them." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  so ;  now  do  you  imagine  that  they 
could  have  fallen  into  wrong  hands  in  Williamsburg  ?" 

"  Of  course  not ;  no  one  there  could  secrete  them,  and 
they  would  be  forwarded  with  other  documents ;  but  our 
system  of  posts  is  wretched,  and  my  letters  may  have  lain 
idle  in  the  office." 

"  The  system  is,  indeed,  poor  enough,  but  will  not  be 
improved  until  we  have  a  great  increase  of  population. 
Do  this,  however ;  give  me  the  next  letter  you  write,  and 
I  will  see  that  it  goes  forward  in  proper  time." 

It  was  true,  indeed,  that  the  previous  letters  had  not 
gone  to  their  proper  destination,  but  this  was  no  fault  of 
the  government  officials. 

The  busy  Lady  Mildred  Estcourt,  during  one  of  her  visits 
to  Kingwood,  by  professing  great  interest  in  Charles'  case 
had  induced  his  father  to  tell  the  whole  story  of  his  love  ; 
when,  naturally  concluding  that  he  would  write  to  Lucy, 
she  determined  to  intercept  the  correspondence  if  possi- 
ble. By  a  keen  search  she  discovered  Charles'  messen- 
ger, and,  making  him  some  small  present,  told  him  to  be 


92  BRANDON  ;    OB,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

sure  to  come  to  her  whenever  he  brought  letters  from 
Kingwood,  as  she  always  desired  to  write  at  the  same 
time  to  some  of  the  same  persons.  The  poor  negro,  sus- 
pecting nothing,  promised  and  obeyed ;  thus  twice  when 
the  black  waited  upon  her,  had  she  abstracted  Charles' 
letters,  giving  him  in  their  place  for  deposit  in  the  office, 
a  package  whose  direction  was  to  Lucy,  but  whose  con- 
tents were  blank. 


CHAPTEK    XII. 

THE  MEETING  WITH   A  GREAT  MAN. 

RANDOLPH  was  anxious  not  only  to  reinvigorate 
Charles'  bodily  health,  but  to  strengthen  his  intellectual 
power.  He  saw  that  he  was  too  prone  to  dreams  and 
reverie,  and  that  if  he  much  longer  indulged  in  such 
tastes  he  would  become  quite  unfitted  for  real  life. 

He  fell  into  conversation  with  him  one  day  on  the  sub- 
ject of  mankind  in  general,  and  followed  up  his  remarks 
by  sketches  of  individual  character,  especially  of  those 
who  had  at  one  time  been  borne  down  by  a  weight  of 
domestic  affliction  or  extraordinary  reverses  of  fortune, 
but  who,  by  perseverance  and  dogged  industry,  had  risen 
at  last  triumphant. 

"There  is  a  young  man,  my  dear  cousin  Charles," 
said  he,  "  living  in  the  neighboring  county  of  Hanover, 
with  whom  I  have  become  lately  acquainted,  and  whom 
I  consider  a  most  remarkable  example  of  talent  which  has 
mastered  misfortune.  He  has  overcome  vast  difficulties, 
and  by  almost  superhuman  efforts  placed  himself  in  a 
position  of  recognized  merit  and  independence.  His 
name  is  Patrick  Henry,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  he 
will  one  day  be  eminent,  and  that  his  words  will  have 
weight  in  the  counsels  of  our  country.  If  agreeable  to 
you,  we  will  ride  over  to  Hanover  Court  House,  and  see 
him,  as  I  understand  he  is  there  at  present." 

•  I  will  gladly  do  so,  but  tell  me  more  about  him." 
"  He  is  yet  very  young,  but  already  has  a  wife  and 
children  to  support.     He  was  for  a  long  time  supposed 
to  be  incorrigibly  idle  and  careless  ;  he  was  twice  en- 

(98) 


94  BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

gaged  in  trade  in  which  he  made  two  signal  failures, 
reducing  himself  and  family  almost  to  beggary,  and  he 
also  tried  farming  with  no  better  success.  His  friends 
became  worn  out  with  his  continued  ill  luck,  insisting 
that  he  was  fit  for  nothing  but  to  hunt,  and  fish,  and  play 
the  violin,  and  hang  around  a  tavern,  listening  to  the 
gossip  of  any  loiterers  that  chanced  to  enter.  They  had 
no  hopes  either  of  his  perseverance  or  talents,  when  he 
suddenly  determined  to  become  a  lawyer ;  yet,  strange 
to  say  that,  with  very  short  study  he  has  achieved 
wonderful  success.  He  is  formed  by  nature  peculiarly  for 
law,  or  rather  for  a  wondrous  and  almost  intuitive  power  of 
seizing  upon  the  strong  points,  the  great  facts  of  cases, 
and  presenting  them  in  language  of  irresistible  eloquence. 
Of  law  as  a  science  he  has  as  yet  but  little  knowledge. 
He  has  lately  made  himself  prominent  in  the  great  cause 
of  which  you  have  doubtless  heard,  namely,  the  revenues 
of  the  clergy  derived  from  the  impost  on  tobacco.  He 
took  the  strongest  ground  against  the  holy  fathers,  and 
his  speech  is  said  by  those  who  have  heard  it  to  have 
done  him  immortal  honor.*  I  became  accidentally  ac- 
quainted with  him,  and  desire  you  to  know  him,  because 
I  think  he  would  exert  an  influence  on  you  of  the  best 
character,  and  also  for  one  or  two  private  reasons  of  my 
own,  which  I  will  not  now  unfold  to  you." 

Charles  assented,  and  shortly  afterwards,  in  the  after- 
noon of  a  pleasant  day,  the  cousins  found  themselves  at 
Hanover  Court  House,  and,  drawing  near  the  tavern, 
heard  the  sound  of  a  fiddle,  accompanied  by  the  noise  of 
shuffling  feet,  and  now  and  then  a  loud  laugh. 


*  This  is  an  anachronism.  Patrick  Henry  did  not  make  this  speech 
until  several  years  after  this  period  (1755-6),  but,  for  the  purposes  of 
the  story,  the  author  has  taken  a  poetic,  or  rather  chronologic,  license. 


THE  MEETING  WITH  A  GREAT  MAN.       95 

"  Some  fun  is  going  on,"  said  Randolph,  "  let  us  see 
what  it  is." 

They  approached  and  threw  open  the  door  leading 
into  the  bar-room  of  the  tavern,  and  in  a  moment  more 
found  themselves  in  the  midst  of  the  jolly  company  from 
whom  the  noise  proceeded.  Some  dozen  or  twenty  stout 
fellows,  mostly  farmers  in  appearance,  mixed  with  several 
indubitable  specimens  of  the  tavern  lounger,  were  busily 
occupied  dancing  with  all  their  might  to  the  sound  of  a 
fiddle. 

It  was  played  in  a  lively  jig,  and  with  considerable 
skill,  by  a  tall,  raw-boned  young  countryman,  mounted 
on  the  top  of  a  barrel  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  whence 
he  could  overlook  the  whole  crowd  beneath  him.  Though 
obliged  to  work  his  arm  hard  for  their  entertainment,  he 
entered  into  the  fun  with  full  zest,  and  now  and  then 
stamping  on  the  head  of  his  barrel,  would  play  with 
renewed  vigor,  shouting  at  the  same  time,  "  Come,  boys, 
that's  not  half  fast  enough  ;  I  can  tire  you  all  out  and  do 
twice  as  much  at  a  time  in  the  bargain." 

Then  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  fiddled  with 
such  amazing  velocity,  and  with  his  feet  beat  such  a  tattoo 
and  double  shuffle  on  the  end  of  his  barrel,  that  it  rocked 
again,  set  the  dancers  into  roars  of  laughter,  and  these 
soon  raised  such  a  cloud  of  dust  that  it  was  almost 
blinding. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Brandon,  are  you  there,"  said  he  catching 
sight  of  Randolph  and  his  cousin ;  "  glad  to  see  you ;  will 
come  down  in  a  few  minutes." 

"  Who  is  that  man  ?"  asked  Charles.  «  What  does  all 
this  mean  ?  I  thought  we  were  coming  to  see  Patrick 
Henry." 

"  So  we  have  come  to  see  him,"  replied  Randolph 
laughing.  »  That  is  he." 


96  BRANDON  ;    OB,   A  HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

"  "What !  you  do  not  mean  to  say  that  that  clownish- 
looking  fellow  in  the  corner,  jerking  away  at  that  fiddle, 
is  the  great  man  you  have  told  me  of?" 

"  Certainly  I  do.  Remember  Ulysses'  bow  was  some- 
times unstrung." 

"  That  was  not  a  fiddle  bow." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  was  not  ?  But  our  friend 
Henry  is  no  aristocrat  in  manners  more  than  in  birth,  and 
I  honor  him  for  his  simplicity.  He  can  give  a  good 
reason  himself  for  acting  so." 

"  What  would  father  think  of  this  ?" 

"  Heavens !  he  would  be  paralyzed  with  horror  ;  but 
here  comes  Mr.  Henry,"  and  the  great  man  descended 
and  came  to  them. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Brandon  ;  hardly  prepared  to 
meet  you,  as  you  perceive  ;  but  the  truth  is,  father-in-law 
has  gone  off  hunting  to-day,  and  I  am  keeping  tavern  for 
him.  It  is  right,  you  understand,  to  make  a  merry  house 
as  well  as  a  good  one.  Besides,  you  know,  it  is  my  duty 
to  help  father,  in  return  for  many  a  kind  deed  he's  done 
for  me." 

"  But  who  have  we  here  ?"  he  added,  looking  towards 
Charles. 

"  My  cousin,"  said  Randolph,  "  I  had  forgotten  to 
introduce  him." 

"Mr.  Brandon,  of  Kingwood,  I  think,"  said  Patrick 
Henry. 

"  The  same,  sir ;  and  it  would  give  me  much  pleasure 
to  see  you  there,  when  you  can  spare  time  from  your 
profession." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Henry,  "  thank  you ;  it  would 
afford  me  much  happiness  to  pay  my  respects  to  you 
there,"  while  at  the  same  time  a  quiet  smile  shot  across 
his  face,  as  he  at  that  moment  pictured  to  himself  the 


THE   MEETING   WITH   A   GREAT   MAN.  97 

reception  he  would  be  likely  to  have  from  old  Mr.  Bran- 
don, whom  he  knew  by  reputation  as  one  of  the  staunch- 
est  aristocrats  of  the  realm,  and  whom  he  saw  occasion- 
ally in  the  streets  of  Williamsburg,  rolling  along  with  the 
pompous  pride  of  a  lord  mayor  of  London. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Brandon,  if  you  will  wait  a  moment,  until 
I  act  as  barkeeper  for  these  people,  as  well  as  fiddler,  I 
will  be  with  you ; "  so  saying,  he  unlocked  a  cupboard, 
and  helping  each  man  to  a  glass  of  whiskey,  brewed  a 
jorum  of  most  excellent  punch  for  Randolph  and  his 
cousin. 

They  remarked  that  Henry  did  not  drink,  himself; 
when  he  informed  them,  that  he  seldom  touched  any 
thing  but  pure  water. 

"  It  is  strong  enough  for  me,"  said  Mr.  Henry,  "  and 
the  more  I  confine  myself  to  it,  the  nearer  does  my  mind 
seem  to  approach  the  purity  and  clearness  of  that  ele- 
ment, and  my  flow  of  spirits  is  as  constant  as  that  of  a 
running  brook." 

Charles  had  now  an  opportunity  of  examining  the  man, 
of  whom  Randolph  had  so  favorably  spoken.  In  dress  he 
was  not  to  be  distinguished  from  the  rustics  around  him ; 
his  clothes  were  coarse  and  threadbare,  and  bore  marks 
of  having  recently  been  used  in  the  chase,  of  which  he 
was  passionately  fond. 

His  figure  was  tall  and  lank ;  his  gait  was  awkward ; 
his  face — long  and  thin — was  of  a  uniform  sallow  bronzed 
tint,  without  a  particle  of  color  in  his  sombre  cheeks.  A 
high  forehead  and  long  nose,  were  his  prominent  features ; 
but  his  eyes  baffled  description,  though  at  once  arresting 
attention.  They  were  not  large ;  deep  set  in  the  head  and 
so  shaded  by  thick,  bushy,  overhanging  eyebrows  that,  at 
times,  they  were  almost  hidden  from  view,  but  on  the 
slightest  emotion,  they  darted  fire  from  their  bluish  gray 
5 


98  BRANDON  ;    OE,    A    HUNDRED    YEARS   AGO. 

orbs,  in  a  manner  well  calculated  to  awe  an  opponent. 
His  voice  was  firm  and  melodious ;  and  'the  little  awk- 
wardness he  displayed  on  first  entering  upon  a  topic,  was 
rapidly  shaken  off  as  he  became  excited,  when  his  whole 
frame  assumed  a  port  of  dignity  and  power. 

Such  is  a  brief  notice  of  the  man,  who  afterwards  became 
so  celebrated,  but  who  at  that  period  was  scarce  conscious 
of  his  own  genius.  He  declared  himself  less  pleased  with 
the  fame  he  had  already  won,  than  the  easier  circum- 
stances of  his  life,  after  so  much  poverty;  rejoicing,  that 
he  was  now  able  to  earn  a  comfortable  subsistence  for  his 
wife  and  children,  in  whom  he  took  the  greatest  delight, 
and  of  whom  he  spoke  with  such  affectionate  warmth, 
that  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes.  He  gave  the  cousins 
an  outline  of  his  own  life,  drawn  in  a  ready  humorous 
style — spoke  of  his  truant  school  days,  when  the  book 
he  loved  best,  was  the  book  of  nature,  studied  while  in 
pursuit  of  the  stag  upon  the  mountain  side,  or  of  his  rel- 
ish for  the  Epicurean  philosophy,  while  sauntering  for 
hours  beneath  the  shade  of  the  trees,  overhanging  the 
brook,  into  which  he  cast  his  line. 

Yet,  he  expressed  keen  regrets  for  time  lost,  and 
desultory  habits,  which  had  so  grown  upon  him,  that  he 
could  scarce  conquer  them.  Then,  changing  the  theme, 
and  speaking  of  the  public  men  and  measures  of  the  day ; 
with  true  artistic  skill,  and  a  few  touches  of  strength,  he 
drew  masterly  pictures  of  every  prominent  individual ; 
displaying  the  keenest  insight  into  human  nature,  and 
laying  bare  all  its  secret  springs  of  action.  In  regard  to 
public  affairs,  every  subject  that  Randolph  could  suggest, 
proved  to  have  previously  engaged  his  attention ;  in  many 
of  which  he  predicted  results,  long  afterwards  verified  in 
the  revolt  of  the  Colonies.  He  spoke  of  taxation — a  sub- 
ject which,  even  then,  had  excited  strong  feeling  in  the 


THE   MEETING   WITH   A   GREAT   MAN.  99 

country;  he  condemned  the  measure,  and  ended  his 
remarks  by  a  sudden  and  brilliant  speech,  eloquent  in 
praise  of  liberal  government,  and  the  progressive  march 
of  civil  liberty,  so  unexpected,  yet  thrilling,  that  his  aud- 
itors— a  number  of  whom  had  returned  to  the  room,  when 
he  began  speaking — now  rewarded  him  with  many  loud 
cheers. 

He  expressed  the  hope  of  seeing  Charles  often,  and 
urged  him  to  join  in  a  hunt  to  begin  on  the  following 
Monday.  It  was  to  last  nearly  a  week,  and  would  offer 
to  Mr.  Brandon  the  pleasure  of  camping  out. 

Before  parting,  Randolph  drew  Mr.  Henry  aside,  and 
asked  him,  "  If  he  had  heard  any  thing  lately  of  Lady 
Mildred?" 

"  Nothing  of  importance ;  and  you  know  that  one  of 
my  condition,  cannot  approach  such  an  exalted  character 
— '  a — a  Cecil,'  is  it  not,  she  calls  herself?  She  does  not 
deign  to  speak  to  me." 

"  Nor  to  me,  neither ;  for  which  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  her."  And  then  Charles  could  hear  nothing 
more  of  the  conversation  excepting  that,  now  and  then, 
the  words  "  will,"  and  "  codicil,"  were  introduced,  and 
Mr.  Parchmount  mentioned. 

They  took  their  leave  then  of  Mr.  Henry,  and  rode 
homewards. 

"  How  do  you  like  our  friend  ?  "  asked  Randolph. 

"  Very  much  indeed.  I  was  astonished  at  his  conver- 
sational power  and  eloquence ;  but,  does  he  always  dress 
in  such  uncomely  style  ?  " 

"  By  no  means.  On  proper  occasions  he  is  clothed  be- 
comingly and  looks  like  another  man ;  but  he  cares  little 
for  show  and  splendor,  and  displays,  as  I  think,  really 
better  taste  by  retaining  some  of  his  old  habits,  than 
by  suddenly  assuming  a  different  style.  But,  rely  upon 


100         BRANDON  ;    OB,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

it,  his  career  will  be  brilliant ;  for  he  is  the  very  incarna- 
tion of  genius  and  common  sense." 

"  Here  we  are  at  home  again,"  he  said,  after  a  hard 
ride  of  an  hour  or  two ;  during  which  the  sun  had  gone 
down,  and  left  the  travelers  to  the  light  of  the  stars. 

"  Now  we  will  see  what  Matilda  is  doing." 

The  young  wife  was  anxiously  waiting;  and  as  she 
came  forward  to  greet  them  with  one  of  her  pretty  smiles, 
Charles  was  surprised  to  see  the  grave  Randolph,  who 
for  the  last  hour  had  said  scarce  a  word,  dash  himself  off 
his  horse,  seize  her  in  his  arms  as  if  she  was  an  infant, 
and  kiss  her  a  dozen  times  over ;  proving,  by  this  affec- 
tionate behavior,  what  loving  husbands  there  were  a  hun- 
dred years  since. 

Matilda  submitted  to  this  treatment  without  manifest- 
ing resentment,  her  blushes  only  making  her  lovelier 
than  ever ;  but  she  soon  disengaged  herself,  and  led  the 
way  to  her  table,  which  was  abundantly  supplied  with 
provisions  for  hungry  riders. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

MILDRED   AND   HER   FORTUNE. 

THE  little  that  we  have  seen  of  Lady  Mildred  Estcourt, 
serves  to  give  us  some  insight  into  her  character,  and 
before  proceeding  to  dwell  farther  upon  her  varied  quali- 
ties of  mind  and  heart,  we  will  look  back  a  few  years  at 
the  history  of  so  marked  a  personage. 

We  have  told  that  she  was  of  English  origin ;  that  her 
grandsire,  the  bold,  bad  statesman,  was  held  up  by  her 
as  a  model  of  virtue  and  wisdom  beyond  that  of  all  his 
compeers,  but  that  she  regarded  her  own  father,  who  was 
of  mild  and  deserving  character,  with  contempt,  or  at 
least  with  utter  indifference.  Would  that  her  grandsire 
were  now  living,  to  recognize  his  own  proud  spirit  in 
hers  ;  she  would  keep  bright  the  lustre  of  his  fame,  and 
she  would  ever  choose  to  be  known  and  named  as  "  the 
granddaughter  of  the  celebrated  statesman,  Robert 
Cecil,"  rather  than  by  the  name  her  husband  bore. 

In  youth  she  was  handsome  ;  her  beauty  was  of  the 
haughty  style  which  is  marked  in  the  throng,  noticed 
rather  as  a  marvel,  than  to  be  loved.  She  had  chosen 
for  her  husband  Mr.  Estcourt,  a  gentleman  of  fortune, 
quite  her  equal  in  birth  and  education,  but  of  a  yielding, 
plastic  temper,  without  much  apparent  will  of  his  own, 
but  who,  like  such  vacillating  persons  in  general,  when 
once  he  had  resolved  on  anything,  displayed  an  obstinacy 
not  to  be  overcome  by  persuasion  or  threats.  The  Est- 
courts  had  been  married  in  England,  and  were  first  seen 
in  Virginia  when  Blanche  was  about  two  years  of  age. 
They  settled  on  an  estate  near  the  city  of  Williamsburg ; 

(101) 


102         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

but  the  husband  did  not  live  long  to  enjoy  his  property. 
His  child  had  scarcely  passed  her  fourth  birthday,  when 
he  died  of  consumption,  with  which  he  had  struggled  for 
some  years.  Soon  after  his  demise,  his  widow  sold  the 
estate,  and  in  affluent  circumstances,  went  to  reside  at 
the  capital.  Short  as  was  the  duration  of  her  wedded 
life,  it  sufficed  for  her  power  to  bind,  him  as  with  fetters 
of  iron.  Though  she  brought  no  fortune  to  her  husband, 
she  scarce  allowed  him  the  expression  of  opinion  even  as 
to  his  worldly  possessions ;  all  were  claimed  as  hers ;  and 
she  spoke  of  them  always  in  such  a  manner  as  left  no 
doubt  on  the  minds  of  those  who  heard  her,  that  she 
considered  her  husband's  interest  in  them  as  solely  depen- 
dent on  her  will.  Mr.  Estcourt  might  occasionally  assert 
his  right  to  be  considered  her  equal,  but  she  always 
checked  him  imperiously,  expressing  astonishment  that 
he  should  venture  to  remonstrate,  and  she  a  Cecil  who 
had  stooped  to  marry  an  Estcourt.  Stooped  to  marry 
him !  if  she  had,  it  was  done  only  for  his  fortune ;  and 
some  persons  were  charitable  enough  to  say  that  she 
would  have  cast  him  off  on  her  marriage  day,  had  a 
richer  suitor  presented  himself.  Simple,  easy  man,  he 
doubtless  soon  found  out  that  submission  only  could  pur- 
chase peace,  and  when  once  accustomed  to  her  sway  it 
proved  so  habitual  to  him,  that  he  went  and  came,  and 
rose  and  sat,  and  did  her  bidding  to  the  letter  in  all  things, 
as  she  commanded,  without  a  murmur. 

Given  up  to  her  himself,  mind  and  soul,  he  had  from 
the  first,  when  his  child  began  to  know  the  word  of  com- 
mand, instructed  her  ever  to  be  ruled  by  her  mother. 
She  knew  best ;  she  was  to  judge  exclusively  of  every 
matter,  small,  as  well  as  great.  He  was  to  take  no  part 
in  the  training  of  the  infant,  any  more  than  if  it  was  a 
stranger ;  thus  voluntarily  surrendering  one  of  the  most 


MILDRED   AND   HER   FORTUNE.  103 

precious  rights,  the  sweetest  pleasures  of  a  parent  and  a 
father,  to  watch  the  tiny  creature  expanding  in  life  and 
loveliness,  and  aid  its  growth  in  holiness  day  by  day. 
He  did  not  accept  this  precious  charge ;  he  obeyed  not 
the  dictates  of  his  own  reason  and  common  sense  ;  and 
what  wonder  that  the  child,  soon  seeing  the  difference  be- 
tween her  parents,*ehould  hold  to  the  one,  and  despise 
the  other. 

In  the  short  time  which  elapsed  before  Mr.  Estcourt's 
death,  Mildred  gamed  the  most  unenviable  notoriety. 
No  one  was  disposed  to  pay  that  profound  court  to  the 
granddaughter  of  Cecil,  which  she  thought  her  due ; 
none  would  tamely  endure  the  insolence  of  this  woman, 
whose  object  in  life  was  to  trample  everybody  in  the  dust 
beneath  her  feet.  The  Virginia  dames,  among  whom  she 
visited,  were  proud-spirited  as  well  as  lovers  of  peace ; 
and  were  neither  willing  to  gratify  her  propensity  for 
making  mischief,  nor  to  bow  down  to  one  whose  whole 
life,  judging  from  what  they  saw  of  it,  must  have  been 
one  continued  quarrel.  Many  of  them,  therefore,  gave 
her  to  understand,  that  her  prejudices,  and  piques,  and 
hatreds,  were  not  subjects  of  sufficient  importance  to 
warrant  her  keeping  a  dozen  families  in  an  uproar.  And 
when  her  husband  died,  never  did  a  woman  quit  her 
home  less  pitied  or  less  loved  than  she,  accompanied  by 
the  scorn,  contempt,  and  execrations  of  her  neighbors. 
She  imagine  d,  when  leaving  the  country,  that  the  gentry 
would  too  late  discover  the  fatal  mistake  they  had  made, 
of  having  suffered  to  go  from  them,  one  so  superior,  so 
deserving  of  homage ;  that  they  would  sigh  for  her  re- 
turn, and  pray  for  it  with  tears.  The  real  truth  was,  that 
they  rejoiced  at  the  departure  of  such  a  fell  spirit ;  that 
such  an  incubus  was  removed ;  and  in  fewer  days  than 
she  had  passed  months  among  them,  she  was  dismissed 


104         BRANDON  ;    OE,    A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

from  their  thoughts,  and  for  all  time  forgotten.  In  the 
city  of  Williamsburg  she  pursued  a  similar  course ;  but 
the  community,  having  been  timely  warned  of  her  char- 
acter, she  found  her  powers  for  mischief  and  strife  very 
greatly  diminished.  It  enraged  her  that  she  was  avoided  ; 
but  blind  to  her  own  faults,  as  she  was  to  others'  virtues, 
she  regarded  herself  as  the  most  persecuted  of  her  sex  ; 
and  often  declared  that  no  human  being  ever  had  half  as 
much  trouble  as  she  did.  No  one,  however  exalted  her 
station,  if  she  were  the  descendant  of  a  hundred  Cecils, 
treats  others  as  Mildred  did,  without  having  in  return 
a  tremendous  retribution;  without  days  of  gloom  and 
nights  of  sleepless  sorrow.  And  who  pities  when  this 
punishment  comes?  for  come  it  does  and  always  will.  We 
have  said  that  her  husband  died  ;  he  slowly  wasted  with 
consumption,  and  those  who  looked  upon  his  daughter's 
bright,  but  hectic  beauty,  remembered  the  disease  of  the 
father,  and  feared  that  its  seeds  were  implanted  in  the 
child. 

There  was  a  very  singular  circumstance  connected  with 
Mr.  Estcourt's  death,  in  regard  to  a  will  which  he  was 
said  to  have  made  in  his  last  illness.  The  story  went, 
that  two  lawyers,  Parchmount  and  Redtape,  who  were 
partners,  had  been  employed  to  draw  for  Estcourt  an  in- 
strument, declared  to  be  his  last  will  and  testament,  re- 
voking, as  usual,  all  former  wills,  and  that  it  ran,  not  as 
many  persons  would  suppose,  solely  in  Lady  Mildred's 
favor.  In  his  last  hours,  thinking,  perhaps,  that  he  had 
done  wrong  in  yielding  everything  to  her  guidance,  or  to 
show  a  power  after  he  was  dead,  which  he  dared  not 
manifest  when  living,  this  will  restricted  her  in  a  great 
degree.  This  will  bequeathed  his  whole  fortune  to  his 
daughter  Blanche,  on  her  becoming  of  age ;  but  if  she 
died  unmarried,  the  whole  property  was  left  to  a  nephew. 


MILDRED   AND   HER   FORTUNE.  105 

There  was  but  a  small  provision  made  for  the  wife,  and 
this  she  was  to  enjoy  for  life  only,  without  power  of  be- 
queathing it.  And  if  she  married  again,  it  was  at  once 
to  pass  from  her.  Rumor  declared  further,  that  this 
will,  executed  without  the  knowledge  of  Mildred,  was 
made  on  the  last  day  of  Estcourt's  life,  in  consequence 
of  some  news  of  startling  nature  concerning  his  wife  ; 
information  which  had  reached  him  in  his  dying  hours, 
of  transactions  in  which  she  had  been  partaker  in  former 
years.  Be  this  as  it  might,  the  will  was  drawn  carefully 
by  Redtape  and  Parchmount,  duly  signed  and  witnessed, 
but  not  delivered  to  the  lawyers  for  safe  keeping,  because 
at  the  last  moment  Mr.  Estcourt  bethought  him  of  a 
codicil  which  he  wished  to  add,  but  declined  doing  so 
that  day,  feeling  too  much  fatigued  to  attend  to  any 
further  business.  Besides,  there  would  be  plenty  of  time 
on  the  morrow,  for  the  will  was  to  be  drawn  in  duplicate. 
But  when  the  morrow  came,  Mr.  Estcourt  was  a  breath- 
less corpse,  having  died  suddenly  in  the  night. 

The  will  which  had  been  drawn  up  with  such  precision, 
and  which  showed  at  the  last  that  Estcourt  had  opinions 
of  his  own,  if  he  never  before  had  chosen  to  exert  them, 
and  which  now  were  to  put  a  life-long  check  upon  his 
wife's  pride  and  power,  that  will,  we  repeat,  was  after  the 
departure  of  the  attorneys  placed  by  Mr.  Estcourt  care- 
fully in  a  drawer  of  his  wardrobe,  where  he  kept  sundry 
valuables ;  this  drawer  was  fastened  by  a  secret  spring. 
No  one  knew  that  he  had  placed  it  there,  and  he  "  died 
and  made  no  sign." 

But  when  after  his  burial,  search  was  instituted  by  the 
lawyers  and  witnesses,  two  of  whom  were  named  his 
executors,  no  will  could  be  found ;  the  house  was  ransacked 
from  garret  to  cellar,  but  all  in  vain.  Mildred  was  sus- 
pected of  having  destroyed  it,  but  she  bore  undismayed 
5* 


106         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

the  proof  of  a  most  thorough  examination  by  Redtape, 
which  may  be  imagined  did  not  soothe  her  irritable 
temper,  but  nothing  was  elicited.  She  was  enraged 
beyond  measure,  on  being  informed  of  the  tenor  of  the 
will,  and  did  not  scruple  to  express  her  hopes  that  it 
would  never  be  found,  but  the  charge  of  having  made 
way  with  it  she  indignantly  denied;  and  she  was  in  truth 
innocent  in  this  case.  She  indeed  knew  nothing  of  the 
matter,  and  when  the  secret  drawer  was  found  at  last  by 
some  one  accidentally  pressing  the  spring,  it  was  empty, 
she  testifying  in  the  most  positive  manner  that  she  never 
before  knew  of  its  existence.  Nor  did  she,  but  another 
was  aware  of  it.  A  confidential  female  servant  of  hers 
was  the  real  culprit.  One  of  those  mean,  prying,  pimping, 
wretches,  whose  ears  are  always  wide  open  for  any  little 
bit  of  tittle-tattle  and  scandal,  and  whose  proclivity  in  this 
wise  was  joined  to  an  inveterate  love  of  pilfering,  had, 
unknown  to  Mildred,  been  made  acquainted  by  her 
husband  with  this  secret  drawer;  and  as  she  always  pro- 
fessed great  piety,  Estcourt  deemed  the  story  safe  in  her 
keeping.  He  had  never  missed  anything,  for  she  was  too 
cunning  to  rob  that  treasury,  but  she  had  long  desired 
to  leave  her  place  for  other  reasons,  which  we  shall  soon 
mention.  Fixing  her  period  for  doing  so  at  the  time  of 
his  death,  which  she  judged  could  not  be  far  off  she 
resolved  then  on  extensive  plunder,  which  should  ensure 
her  a  handsome  sum,  and  some  hope  of  settled  comfort 
for  the  rest  of  her  days. 

She  slept  in  a  room  adjoining  Mr.  Estcourt's,  being  his 
appointed  nurse  in  his  illness;  Mildred,  who  professed 
to  feel  too  keenly  to  stay  by  him  at  night  and  witness 
his  sufferings,  betaking  herself  to  a  remote  and  solitary 
chamber,  where  she  could  be  out  of  the  way  and  sleep 
comfortably. 


MILDRED   AND    HER   FORTUNE.  107 

That  last  night,  this  servant  was  aroused  by  hearing  a 
noise  of  distress  in  her  master's  room.  She  entered  and 
beheld  him  gasping  for -breath,  unable  to  speak,  with  one 
hand  raised  to  his  white  face ;  and  as  she  came  he  pointed 
with  the  other  to  the  secret  drawer.  The  deliberate 
wretch  looked  at  him  a  few  seconds,  as  she  marked  the 
last  ripple  of  life  ebb  away,  and  when  he  had  fallen  back 
upon  his  pillow,  and  the  hand  had  dropped  by  the  side  of 
the  dead  man,  she  felt  his  pulse  and  placed  her  palm 
over  the  motionless  heart  to  be  assured  that  the  spirit 
had  fled ;  and,  proceeding  to  the  cabinet,  touched  the  secret 
spring.  The  drawer  opened,  and  the  miscreant  robbed 
the  dead  master  who  had  bestowed  his  confidence  upon  her. 

She  concealed  the  jewels  and  money  securely  about  her 
person,  and  then  proceeded  coolly  to  examine  the  parch- 
ment by  the  gleam  of  that  taper  whose  rays  were  the  last 
material  light  that  ever  shone  upon  those  quenched  orbs, 
which  now,  with  frightful  fixedness  glared  as  if  with  hor- 
ror, at  the  creature  by  its  bedside. 

As  she  perused  the  document,  a  grin  of  delight,  like  the 
mocking  sneer  of  a  fiend,  sat  fixed  upon  her  face,  and  her 
first  thought  was  to  replace  it  and  wait  for  the  triumph 
which  was  sure  to  come,  when  her  mistress  Mildred  should 
hearken  to  a  voice  beyond  the  grave,  dooming  her  to 
poverty.  But  she  thought  more  deeply,  and  with  a  smooth 
calculating  satisfied  smile,  refolded  the  parchment,  placed 
it  in  her  bosom  and  shut  the  drawer. 

If  in  that  dim  chamber  which  death  had  entered,  which 
the  struggling  beams  of  the  midnight  rising  moon  faintly 
lighted,  as  sole  witness  of  that  awfully  sudden  catastrophe 
and  the  deed  of  cruelty  which  followed  it,  that  desperate 
menial  prayed ;  it  was  that  her  crime  might  rest  undis- 
covered ;  if  she  rejoiced,  as  she  did,  it  was  at  the  sudden 
untimely  fulfillment  of  her  hopes  of  years.  When  she 


108         BRANDON  ;   OB,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

had  dimmed  the  taper  again,  and  carefully  marked  that 
the  room  bore  no  trace  of  disorder,  prudently  forbearing 
to  touch  another  article,  she  conveyed  her  spoils  to  a 
lading  place  of  safety ;  and  then,  with  feigned  tears  and 
frantic  sobs,  rushed  to  the  room  of  her  mistress,  and 
beat  at  its  door  to  tell  her  tale  of  grief  and  misery  for  the 
loss  of  the  poor  dear  kind  sweet  master,  she  loved  so 
well.  She  too  was  examined,  but  nothing  found  against 
her;  there  was  no  suspicion  of  foul  play  in  regard  to  the 
dead  man,  for  the  physicians  summoned,  delivered  a 
learned  opinion  that  his  death  was  perfectly  natural,  and 
their  certificate  to  this  effect,  couched  in  terms  altogether 
unintelligible,  was  of  course  entirely  satisfactory. 

This  servant,  Jane  Hook,  after  remaining  a  few  weeks, 
and  receiving  the  thanks  and  presents  of  the  neighbors 
for  her  noble  devotion  and  self-sacrifice  in  attachment  to 
her  late  master,  packed  up  her  wardrobe  and  disappeared, 
going  to  another  part  of  the  country,  where  we  shall 
again  encounter  her  ere  long. 

There  was  another  will  which  Mildred  knew  of,  and 
which  Redtape  knew  of,  for  he  had  a  duplicate  copy  of 
it.  It  had  been  made  some  years  previous,  when  the 
wife's  influence  over  her  husband  was  as  yet  unlimited, 
and  this  one  was  wholly  in  her  favor. 

Mildred  produced  this  document  in  due  time.  She  had 
retained  it  in  her  own  possession  ever  since  it  was  drawn, 
and  had  used  her  influence  to  prevent  Estcourt  from 
making  another,  as  he  sometimes  said  he  would.  She 
claimed  now  the  entire  property  in  virtue  of  this  will. 
Redtape  resisted  her  as  long  as  possible,  therefore  adding 
himself  to  the  list  of  her  thousand  and  one  enemies,  be- 
cause he  always  hoped  the  missing  document  would  be 
found,  and  thought  that  it  was  some  reflection  on  his  own 
professional  skill  and  caution  that  such  an  important 


MILDRED   AND    HER   FORTUNE.  109 

paper  should  disappear  in  this  mysterious  manner,  and 
elude  all  pursuit.  But  nothing  could  be  heard  of  it,  and 
without  it,  no  matter  in  what  way  Estcourt  wished  his 
property  devised,  the  former  will  was  in  full  force,  and 
nothing  could  set  it  aside. 

It  was  acknowledged  to  be  valid  by  Redtape,  and 
after  allowing  a  reasonable  time  to  recover  the  other, 
without  avail,  a  decree  of  court  settled  the  question,  and 
Lady  Mildred  took  quiet  possession  of  the  whole  estate. 

But  Mr.  Redtape  was  not  satisfied  ;  he  always  declared 
that  sooner  or  later  the  mystery  would  be  brought  to 
light,  much  to  the  astonishment  and  confusion  of  cer- 
tain parties.  He  had  no  positive  ill-will  to  Mildred,  so 
as  to  rejoice  in  seeing  her  deprived  of  property,  but  he 
forgot  her  in  his  anxiety  that  the  case  should  stand  upon 
its  proper  merits,  which  he  deemed  the  last  will  to  involve. 
With  this  idea,  added  to  the  pertinacity  which  distin- 
guishes some  of  the  more  terrier-like  members  of  the 
legal  profession,  he  was  ever  snuffing  round  endeavoring 
to  get  upon  the  scent  of  this  extraordinary  matter.  He 
was  quite  likely,  however,  to  be  baffled,  for  up  to  the 
period  of  which  we  write,  nothing  had  transpired,  and  Mil- 
dred had  possessed  the  estate  for  about  fourteen  years. 

But  to  hold  her  fortune  was  one  thing,  and  to  enjoy 
her  life  quite  another,  for  it  is  not  very  probable  that 
Mildred  could  pass  hers  happily,  owing  to*"  circumstances 
which  we  shall  divulge.  Her  temper  and  disposition 
were  by  no  means  calculated  to  ensure  her  peace  of  mind, 
for  those  like  her,  "  the  worthless  and  offensive  members 
of  society,  whose  existence  is  a  social  pest,  invariably 
think  themselves  the  most  ill-used  people  alive,  and  never 
get  over  their  astonishment  at  the  ingratitude  and  selfish- 
ness of  their  contemporaries." 

She  had  looked,  on  first  coming  into  possession  of  her 


110         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

estate,  for  a  brilliant  career ;  to  bestow  her  hand  and 
fortune  this  time  on  one  of  established  rank  among  the 
aristocracy  of  the  country,  and  thus  queen  it  over  those 
who  had  incurred  her  displeasure.  But  her  hopes,  year 
by  year  had  been  disappointed ;  she  found  no  one  des- 
perate or  foolhardy  enough  to  link  himself  with  her  ;  she 
grew  more  and  more  alone,  in  spite  of  her  wish  to  dazzle 
and  lead  society,  and  in  fact  was  tolerated  but  for  her 
daughter's  sake,  who  was  as  much  a  favorite  as  her 
mother  was  hated.  It  burned  into  her  haughty  spirit  to 
find  that  her  charms  and  her  fortune  were  unsought,  and 
that  her  influence  daily  grew  less.  As  her  daughter  grew 
up  and  entered  society,  a  striking,  beautiful,  and  fascinat- 
ing woman,  she  frequently  threw  open  her  house  and 
entertained  in  elegant  style ;  but  now  baffled  for  years, 
with  hopes  which  promised  but  brought  no  fruit  to  her 
desires  of  a  second  marriage,  this  she  reluctantly  aban- 
doned, and  devoted  all  her  energies  to  secure  a  splendid 
lot  in  life  for  her  daughter. 

But  Mildred  had  other  and  far  more  harassing  sorrows 
than  the  world  knew  of,  and  her  punishment  was  the  more 
terrible  because  she  could  reveal  her  grief  to  no  one,  but 
was  forced,  for  many  reasons,  to  keep  it  profoundly 
secret.  That  wretch  of  a  servant,  who  had  purloined 
valuables  and  stolen  the  will  on  the  night  of  Estcourt's 
death,  found  in  that  document  an  exhaustless  mine  of 
wealth,  and  by  its  means  had  wrung  from  Mildred  many 
a  handsome  sum  of  money.  The  mistress  was  matched 
in  this  instance  by  one  of  equal  craft  and  wickedness,  and 
the  lower  fiend  had  tortured  her  to  the  last  degree. 

Elsewhere  we  shall  disclose  scenes  in  Mildred's  former 
life,  in  which  this  servant  had  taken  part ;  but  it  will 
suffice  to  say,  that  she  had  acquired  an  influence  and 
power  over  her  mistress  not  to  be  shnken  off,  A  short 


MILDRED    AND   HER   FORTUNE.  Ill 

time  after  her  husband's  death,  Madam  Estcourt  received 
a  letter  from  this  woman,  who  had  removed  to  another 
part  of  the  country,  Mildred  knew  not  where,  until  this 
missive  came  from  Newport,  Rhode  Island.  Jane  briefly 
referred  in  her  letter  to  certain  days  past  and  persons  inter- 
ested, in  a  manner  which,  as  Mildred  read,  curdled  the  very 
blood  around  her  heart.  She  wrote  that  she  had  found 
the  will,  for  which  such  keen  search  had  been  made,  and 
that  her  former  mistress  was  now  utterly  in  her  power,  rich 
though  she  was. 

For  the  price  of  secrecy  in  concealing  this  document, 
as  well  as  the  crime  in  which  Mildred  in  years  past  had 
been  an  actress,  was  demanded  a  certain  sum  of  money,  or 
evil  should  befall  her.  The  will  should  be  produced,  and 
her  possessions  should  pass  from  her.  Mildred  had 
enough  and  to  spare,  and  could  purchase  peace,  security, 
and  undisturbed  enjoyment  of  her  fortune,  by  simply 
ministering  to  the  wants  of  her  poor  servant.  Jane 
added,  that  she  was  now  to  be  married,  and  tauntingly 
concluded  by  saying,  that  her  love  for-  her  mistress  was 
still  unabated. 

The  guilty  Mildred  never  doubted  the  truth  of  Jane 
Hook's  tale,  and  complying  with  her  request  once,  fairly 
committed  herself  to  the  miscreant's  power. 

The  money  was  sent,  and  from  that  time  she  had  lived 
under  continual  dread  of  discovery,  under  constant  extor- 
tion from  the  wretch  who  had,  as  Mildred  thought,  married 
one  as  vile  as  herself,  and  whom  we  shall  speak  of  in  an 
ensuing  chapter. 

Such  was  the  fearful  penalty  Mildred  paid;  crime  is 
wept  for  in  tears  of  blood,  but  these  will  not  wash  away 
remembrance  of  the  sin ;  and  even  if  no  remorse  could  find 
its  way  into  that  iron  heart  of  hers,  it  was  yet  a  prey  to  bit- 
ter anguish,  rage,  fear,  and  hate.  There  was  also  another 


112         BRANDON  ;   OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS    AGO. 

cause  of  misery  to  this  woman.  On  one  hand  it  was  said, 
that  when  Mildred  first  came  to  America  from  England, 
that  she  was  accompanied  by  a  sister  who  was  a  widow, 
with  one  young  son ;  that  after  Mr.  Estcourt's  death,  they 
had  been  domiciled  with  her  for  a  short  period,  during 
which  time  the  sister  was  subjected  to  the  harshest  treat- 
ment, which  she  bore  patiently  as  long  as  she  could,  being 
of  far  more  tender  nature  than  Mildred,  but  that  at  last, 
worn  out  with  such  a  course,  she  had  left  her  house,  and 
suddenly  disappeared  with  the  child,  no  one  knew  whither. 
She  had  kept  herself  entirely  secluded,  while  with  her 
sister,  and  when  she  left,  there  was  no  one  who  knew  her 
or  cared  to  ask  for  her.  It  was  now  whispered  on  the 
other  hand,  that  this  sister  had  loved  not  wisely  but  too 
well,  and  that  the  stern  Mildred,  who  held  herself  to  be 
without  spot  or  blemish,  could  never  forget  or  forgive 
such  a  sin  in  one  of  her  kindred.  She  had  harbored  her 
and  her  fatherless  love-child  as  long  as  she  could,  but  the 
unrepentant  transgressor  had  repaid  kindness  with  ingrati- 
tude, and  left  at  last  without  Mildred  having  any  suspicion 
that  she  was  about  to  take  such  a  step.  Henceforth,  of 
course  she  was  not  to  be  named,  and  ere  long  it  was  for- 
gotten that  such  a  being  had  ever  been  seen  in  the  com- 
munity. Mildred  herself,  having  never  taken  pains  to 
trace  her,  was  now  ignorant  if  she  was  living  or  dead,  or 
what  had  happened  to  the  unfortunate  child. 

But  in  one  of  those  letters  which  Jane  Hook  wrote 
from  time  to  time,  in  which  demands  for  money  were 
spiced  with  threats  in  case  of  refusal,  Mildred's  sister  w:is 
named ;  spoken  of  as  an  innocent  lamb,  as  in  truth  she 
was,  with  hints  that  justice  would  yet  be  done  her,  and 
that  her  son  would  claim  his  own. 

And  now,  wretched  as  Mildred  was,  with  none  to  look 
to  for  hope  and  consolation — for  this  was  a  subject  she 


MILDRED   AND   HER   FORTUNE.  113 

could  not  name  to  her  daughter — an  awful  sense  of  her 
own  guilt  and  the  wickedness  of  her  conduct  towards  her 
sister,  whom  she  knew  to  be  blameless,  came  upon  her. 
She  would  seek  her  out ;  she  would  be  reconciled  with 
her ;  a  plausible  story  could  easily  be  told  to  the  world 
how  her  suspicions,  which  once  appeared  actual  certainty, 
were  now  entirely  removed,  that  she  had  been  found  to 
be  innocent,  and  was  received  back  with  the  deepest  affec- 
tion ;  this  she  thought  would  go  far  with  heaven  in  expia- 
tion of  her  sins.  With  this  purpose  she  wrote  to  Jane, 
asking  information  of  her  sister,  and  in  due  time  received 
for  answer,  that  she  had  been  living  with  her  son  in  New- 
port, but  they  had  disappeared  for  some  years,  and  that 
she  knew  nothing  of  either. 

This  letter  did  not  tally  with  the  former,  in  which  her 
sister  was  spoken  of,  and  not  knowing  whether  Jane  Hook 
was  lying  in  every  part  of  her  epistle,  or  whether  it  was 
partly  true,  and  being  unable  to  find  out,  because  she 
knew  no  one  else  in  Newport,  she  determined  before  long 
to  visit  that  place  in  person,  and  suddenly  pounce  upon 
her  tormentors.  She  would  frighten  them  thoroughly ; 
she  would  by  threats  or  bribes  get  possession  of  that  will, 
and  once  in  her  clutches,  it  would  soon  be  scattered  to  the 
winds;  then  with  her  whole  energies  bent  to  marry  her 
child  to  Charles  Brandon,  and  to  effect  a  reconciliation 
with  the  discarded  sister,  she  would  triumph  at  last,  and 
in  triumphing,  be  happy. 

Ah,  how  easy  a  task  was  all  this  to  her  in  imagination 
now ;  how  far  easier  it  would  have  been  in  reality  to  have 
done  justly  in  years  past,  and  her  reward  would  have  been 
abiding.  But  there  must  be  some  reason  given  for  her 
sudden  move  to  the  north,  especially  to  the  Brandons, 
and  it  struck  her  that  a  plausible  one  could  be  furnished 
in  the  health  and  spirits  of  her  daughter  Blanche. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER. 

MILDRED  ESTCOURT  was  now  not  only  disappointed  and 
vexed  that  Charles  Brandon  should  pass  so  much  of  his 
time  with  his  cousin  Randolph,  who  she  knew  would 
instil  into  him  any  feeling  rather  than  one  of  affection  for 
her,  but  for  some  time  past  she  had  real  cause  for  solici- 
tude in  regard  to  her  own  child.  She,  however,  attributed 
the  change  in  her  entirely  to  interest  in  Charles,  the  dis- 
covery that  his  affections  were  bestowed  upon  another, 
and  that  her  own  love  could  never  be  returned ;  knowledge 
which  could  only  be  fatal  to  her  peace  and  happiness. 
The  poor  girl  had  visibly  altered  ever  since  that  time 
when  she  found  by  Charles  Brandon's  distant  manner  to 
her,  that  her  hopes  were  futile.  She  had  been  insensibly 
led  to  regard  herself  as  his  destined  bride.  His  atten- 
tions to  her,  she  was  obliged  to  confess,  were  not  such  as  a 
lover  would  employ;  still  their  union  was  anticipated,  and 
had  been  mentioned  to  her  as  so  natural  a  possibility,  that 
she  had  indulged  the  pleasing  thought  too  far.  Vainly 
did  she  regret  it  now,  and  more  so  that  she  felt  compelled 
to  exonerate  him  from  all  blame.  A  sad  change  had 
indeed  come  over  the  beautiful  girl ;  she  had  lost  in  a 
great  degree  her  vivacity  of  spirits,  and  interest  in  the 
society  even  of  her  friends  who  loved  her  devotedly,  and 
she  withdrew  from  them  as  much  as  she  could  without 
giving  them  pain. 

Her  form  lost  its  rounded  symmetry ;  her  cheeks  grew 
thin,  but  their  color  heightened,  and  her  large  eyes  shone 
with  a  strange  light.  A  slight  cough  now  troubled  her, 
(114) 


MOTHER   AND    DAUGHTER.  115 

which  she  in  vain  strove  to  keep  concealed  from  her 
mother ;  and  those  who  looked  upon  her  wasting  beauty 
predicted,  that  she  would  sleep  in  an  early  grave.  She 
had  loved,  loved  as  she  felt  and  knew,  in  vain ;  but  hers 
was  a  timid,  shrinking  passion ;  she  had  scarce  dared 
trust  herself  with  it ;  she  had  not  breathed  it  to  a  single 
friend,  not  even  to  her  mother,  who,  fully  as  she  was 
aware  of  it,  had  hitherto  thought  best  to  say  nothing  of 
it  to  Blanche  until  Charles  could  be  influenced  to  offer  his 
hand.  "  He  never  dreams  of  me,"  thought  the  poor  girl. 
"  Would  that  I  could  banish  this  hopeless  passion  from 
my  breast,  and  be  cheerful  once  more.  But  I  shall  soon 
die ;  I  feel  that  life  has  no  happy  future  for  me ;  let  me 
lie  down  and  be  forgotten — then  may  heaven  bless  him 
more  than  it  has  me." 

Mildred  thought ;  "  This  disease  must  be  cured.  I  will 
not  see  my  daughter  dying  by  inches  before  my  eyes, 
without  an  effort  to  save  her.  Charles  shall  marry  her, 
and  at  the  first  hour  of  their  engagement  even,  she  will 
begin  to  revive." 

But  the  mother  little  knew  that  not  love  only  was  se- 
cretly mining  the  health  of  her  child  ;  another  insidious 
destroyer  was  at  work — consumption  was  silently  but  fa- 
tally progressing. 

It  deceived  her  as  it  has  a  thousand  parents  more  fond 
than  she.  She  now  deemed  it  the  proper  time  to  ques- 
tion Blanche,  hoping  that  her  daughter's  sentiments 
would  accord  with  her  own,  for  were  such  the  case,  she 
saw  little  difficulty  in  the  accomplishment  of  her  wishes. 

"  Blanche,  my  child,  I  have  something  to  tell  you, 
come  and  sit  by  me.  I  have  of  late  felt  exceedingly  con- 
cerned for  your  health,  and  I  have  a  proposal  to  make 
which  I  am  sure  will  please  you.  It  is  a  pleasant  season, 
and  a  journey  will  do  you  much  good.  Therefore,  pre- 


116         BRANDON  ;    OR,    A    HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

pare  in  a  week  to  leave  for  the  north.  I  wish  to  go  to 
Newport.  You  saw  it  as  a  child,  but  quite  too  young  to 
remember  it.  Now  you  will  see  it  with  different  eyes. 
You  know  we  landed  there  when  we  came  from  Eng- 
land." 

"  But  mother  you  astonish  me  ;  go  to  so  distant  a  spot 
in  the  colonies  at  this  late  season !  Can  you  mean  this 
seriously  ?  Why  can  we  not  seek  the  sea  shore  at  some 
nearer  point.  Beside,  your  proposal  sounds  to  me  like  a 
command." 

"And  if  it  be  a  command,  have  I  not  a  right  to  issue 
it  ?  You  have  never  disobeyed  me." 

"  Nor  do  I  wish  to  do  so  now ;  yet,  if  I  think  at  all,  as 
I  must  when  a  proposal  or  even  a  command  is  made  to 
me,  I  may  surely  in  this  instance." 

"  Well,  think,  if  you  desire,  but  we  must  go ;  I  say 
must.  I  have  much  to  occupy  me  during  my  visit  to 
Newport.  Widowed  as  I  am,  with  the  whole  manage- 
ment of  our  estate  devolved  upon  me,  I  have  many  tilings 
to  harass  me.  We  must  go  at  once  to  Newport,  I  say." 

"  Surely,  mother,  I  will  cheerfully  accompany  you. 
You  have,  indeed,  heavy  cares ;  but  how  often  have  I 
urged  you  to  let  me  lend  assistance.  I  could  lighten  you 
of  much  of  your  load." 

Innocent  creature,  thought  Mildred,  would  to  God 
thou  could'st. 

"  No  Blanche,  you  could  not  help  me." 

"  Indeed,  I  might ;  but  you  never  would  tell  me  what 
troubled  you.  I  have  wondered  at  your  distress  when 
those  strange-looking  letters,  which  never  to  me  appeared 
like  those  of  gentlefolks,  came  to  you  ;  and  you  would 
bury  your  face  in  your  hands,  and  at  times  weep  so  bit- 
terly, and  again  be  angry.  Often  have  I  tried  to  comfort 
you,  but  you  turned  me  away." 


MOTHER   AND    DAUGHTER.  117 

"Child,  you  know  not  of  what  you  are  talking.  The 
letters  were  naught,  naught." 

"  But  I  have  heard  you  moan  piteously  in  your  sleep, 
and  toss  upon  your  pillow,  and  utter  strange  words." 

"Words  !"  said  Mildred,  starting  in  terror. 

"  Oh !  mother,  do  not  frighten  me  with  such  awful 
vehemence ;  if  there  is  something  dreadful  to  be  told,  I 
can  bear  it.  How  much  less  could  it  afflict  me  than  sus- 
pense, and  my  wish  of  sympathy  in  your  misery  denied 
me." 

"  There  is  no  misery  Blanche,  you  are  too  anxious, 
child.  Have  no  fears." 

"  But  mother,  I  must  feel  for  you  sadly,  indeed,  al- 
though you  would  never  allow  me  to  see  those  letters,  or 
even  learn  who  wrote  them.  You  would  only  say  they 
were  from  Newport." 

"  Peace,  Blanche,  about  the  letters ;  nothing  worries 
me  now,  I  tell  you,  and  I  go  chiefly  on  account  of  your 
health.  You  require  change." 

"Change  has  little  charm  for  me,  and  will  not  long 
avail,"  thought  poor  Blanche ;  but  she  tried  to  smile,  and 
said,  "  Then,  dear  mother,  I  will  fear  no  more  ;  it  will  be 
delightful  to  me  to  visit  the  north." 

Mildred  mused  as  to  the  manner  in  which  she  should 
touch  upon  Charles ;  she  drew  Blanche  closer  to  her  side 
and  kissed  her. 

"  My  daughter,  tell  me  how  you  feel  ?" 

"  I  am  not  strong." 

"  Shame,"  said  Mildred,  thinking  it  best  to  come  to  the 
point  at  once  and  assume  a  tone  of  virtuous  indignation, 
"  shame  that  your  illness  should  have  been  caused  by  the 
heartless  treatment  you  have  received !" 

"  Shame,  mother !  there  is  no  one  at  fault." 

"  There  is,  tell  me  not  so.     How  dared  Charles  Bran- 


118          BRANDON  ;    OE,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

don  act  as  he  has  done  ?  win  your  regard,  then  throw  it 
lightly  by  ?  But  he  shall  not." 

"  Mother,"  said  Blanche,  hurriedly,  and  with  a  quiver- 
ing lip,  "  I  cannot,  will  not,  listen  to  this." 

"  And  has  he  not  worked  all  this  evil  ?  did  he  not  woo 
and  win  you  ?  did  he  not  cast  himself  at  the  feet  of  an- 
other, heartless  traitor  that  he  is.  You  know  you  love  him." 

"  I  did  once  love  him,"  said  Blanche,  very  firmly,  but 
in  a  sweet  and  modest  manner,  "  but  it  is  not  in  my  nature 
to  waste  affection  on  those  who  do  not  care  for  it.  I  am 
too  proud  to  degrade  myself.  I  have  the  Cecil's  blood  in 
my  veins  as  well  as  you,  mother.  But  Mr.  Brandon  never 
did  attempt  to  deceive  me ;  he  never  gave  me  any  proof 
of  love,  by  word  or  deed,  and  our  last  meeting,  months 
ago,  was  one  of  cold  courtesy." 

"  But  you  say  you  loved  him  once ;  if  you  do  not  now, 
why  did  you  then  ?  " 

"  The  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness,  and  its  own 
joys  and  secrets  too.  Mine  told  me  to  love  him,  but 
never  why." 

"  Blanche,  you  are  a  strange  girl ;  but  now  if  Charles 
did  love  you,  how  would  you  return  his  affections  ?  " 

"  But  he  does  not  love  me." 

"  If  he  could,  though  ?  » 

"He  cannot." 

"  Do  not  answer  me  so,  I  have  no  patience  with  such 
replies.  Would  you  not  love  him  in  return  ?  " 

"  If  of  his  own  free  will,  he  were  ready  to  bestow  his 
strong,  unselfish,  unswerving  love,  I  might  again  return 
it ;  but  if  only  a  sense  of  honor  tempted  him  to  offer  his 
hand  in  reparation  for  supposed  injuries,  I  would  reject  it 
with  disdain." 

"  But,  Blanche,  he  must,  he  does  love  you,  and  you  do 
not  blame  him." 


MOTHER   AND    DAUGHTER.  119 

"  No ;  for  he  never  sought  by  smooth  words  to  win  me 
and  then  desert  me.  His  conduct  has  been  kind  and  hon- 
orable." 

"  Then,  child,  there  is  no  difficulty  in  the  way.  It  will 
require  but  little  time ;  leave  me  to  manage  it." 

"  Manage  it,  manage  it !  What  do  you  mean,  madam, 
to  devise  a  plan  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  Mr.  Brandon 
to  my  feet?  Excuse  me,  but  I  am  party  to  no  such 
manoeuvering." 

"  What  temper  is  this,  daughter  ?  » 

"  My  own,  madam ;  it  is  time  indeed  I  find  to  display 
my  spirit.  I  will  not  tamely  submit  to  any  such  indignity." 

"Tush !  no  indignity  is  meant;  do  I  not  know  best." 

"Your  judgment  must  be  impaired,  mother,  if  you 
imagine  that  the  course  you  indicate  will  receive  my  sanc- 
tion. I  have  always  been  to  you  a  dutiful  and  obedient 
daughter,  but  I  will  not  in  this  matter  be  made  a  puppet. 
I  warn  you  in  good  time,  if  you  approach  Mr.  Brandon 
witli  the  intent  disclosed  to  me,  he  will  be  obliged  also  to 
listen  to  my  sentiments.  They  will  not  agree  with  yours. 
Let  me  hear  no  more  of  this." 

Mildred  saw  that  she  had  gone  too  far,  and  had  roused 
in  Blanche  a  noble  spirit  of  resistance.  She  was  surprised 
but  awed,  and  resolved  to  let  the  project  rest  for  a  season. 

And  Blanche  was  resolved  too,  not  only  in  regard  to 
her  own  heart,  but  also  concerning  the  secret  troubles  in 
Newport.  She  now  acquiesced  the  more  cheerfully  in  the 
proposed  visit,  being  determined,  while  there,  if  she  pos- 
sibly could,  to  fathom  the  mystery. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

MB.   BRANDON  INDIGNANT. 

HAVING  prepared  for  her  journey  with  Blanche,  Lady 
Mildred  Estcourt  now  determined  to  test  the  scheme  she 
had  planned  for  inducing  Charles  to  offer  his  hand.  She 
saw,  with  trembling,  the  great  change  in  her  daughter's 
health  and  spirits ;  and  although  she  knew  not  that  con- 
sumption was  at  work,  she  felt  the  urgent  necessity  of 
speedy  success  hi  her  schemes.  Loving  Blanche  as  much 
as  such  a  woman  could  love  anything,  still  the  possibility 
of  losing  her  by  early  death,  was  not  of  half  the  moment 
that  the  failure  of  her  designs  would  be.  If  Blanche  died 
unmarried,  what  security  had  she  against  the  infamous 
wretches  who  preyed  upon  her  ?  After  saving  a  hand- 
some sum  from  her  tribute,  they  might  prefer  to  dra^ 
her  before  the  public,  and  make  a  full  exposure  of  her 
evil  deeds. 

She  did  not  reflect,  that  should  they  dare  take  such 
steps  against  her,  they  would  naturally  involve  themselves 
in  trouble;  but  the  perceptions  of  guilt  seldom  accord 
with  clear  judgment.  While  she  believed  that  Jane 
Hook's  regard  for  Blanche  alone  restrained  her  and  her 
accomplice,  the  possibility  of  their  ultimate  vengeance 
hung  over  her  like  a  sword.  They  had  the  power,  ;iu<l 
perhaps  the  wish,  to  reduce  her  at  one  fell  stroke  to 
poverty  and  despair ;  and  she  cursed  the  moment  when 
she  had  been  weak  enough  to  yield  to  them.  She  could 
have  enjoyed  as  much,  with  Blanche  in  possession  of  the 
estate ;  but  it  was  too  late  to  repent  or  regret  now ;  :i 
savage  resolution  seized  upon  her  to  gain  her  ends,  no 

(120) 


MB.  BRANDON   INDIGNANT.  121 

matter  by  what  means,  or  in  case  of  failure,  despair  would 
kill  her. 

With  this  view,  she  sought  her  opportunity,  and, 
without  going  to  Kingwood,  where  she  feared  that  Mrs. 
Brandon  would  thwart  her  scheme,  held  an  interview 
with  her  husband  in  Williamsburg.  Mr.  Brandon  was 
walking  in  the  street;  Mildred  saw  him  approaching, 
stepped  to  the  door,  and  accosted  him ;  quite  accidentally, 
of  course.  He  politely  ascended  the  steps  to  ask  the  health 
of  the  ladies,  and  she  induced  him  to  enter  the  house. 

Blanche  was  out;  the  mother  considered  the  chance 
too  favorable  to  be  suffered  to  pass.  After  a  few  moments' 
gossip  on  common-place  topics,  she  artfully  led  the  con- 
versation to  turn  upon  her  daughter. 

"  Mr.  Brandon,  you  have  a  wife,  she  is  a  mother,  and 
you  can  form  by  her  some  idea  of  a  mother's  feelings  for 
her  child.  Did  I  not  therefore  know  that  you  can  sym- 
pathize with  me,  I  never  could  persuade  myself  to  speak 
as  my  duty  impels." 

"  I  listen,  madam,  all  attention ;  pray  tell  me  what  it  is 
that  concerns  you." 

"  It  is  the  health  of  my  darling  daughter,  the  dearest 
that  mother  ever  had;  you  do  not  know,  indeed,  the 
depth  of  my  love  for  that  sweet  child." 

Mr.  Brandon  bowed  in  a  profoundly  respectful  manner. 

"  So  tender  a  charge  has  ever  filled  me  with  the  most 
anxious  solicitude  for  her  well-being,  which  has  most  for- 
tunately been  preserved  to  her  until  lately  .  .  .  but  .  .  . 
truly  .  .  .  Mr.  Brandon,  you  do  not  imagine  how  much  I 
am  pained  even  to  approach  this  subject." 

"  Madam,  why  not*inform  me  at  once  ?     I  am  ignorant 
of  any  cause  of  your  daughter's  illness ;  we  are  all  liable 
to  the  evils  which  flesh  is  heir  to ;  but  is  this  an  affection 
of  the  mind?" 
6 


122         BRANDON  ;    OB,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

"Ah,  of  the  mind!  now  you  touch  the  point,  Mr. 
Brandon.  I  was  sure  that  one  of  your  acute  perceptions 
would  soon  discover  the  cause  of  my  grief;  but  my  sen- 
sitive nature  shrunk  from  the  confession."  Here  Mildred 
sunk  back,  and  wept  in  touching  style.  She  knew  the 
use  of  tears,  and  had  drilled  them  to  come  when  called 
for. 

"  Dear  Madam  Estcourt,  compose  yourself;  I  did  not 
know  before  that  you  suffered  from  sensitiveness." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  acute  sensibility  has  made  half  my  life  mise- 
rable. I  feel  so  deeply  for  others'  woes,  the  world  would 
not  believe  it." 

"  It  is  an  ungrateful  world,  madam." 

"  It  has  proved  so  to  me ;  but  my  hopes  rest  in  heaven." 

"Your  daughter"  .  .  .  suggested  Mr.  Brandon. 

"  You  do  but  recall  me  to  my  misery.  I  a  Cecil,  and 
the  Cecils,  who  have  always  been  so  noted  for  their  pe- 
culiar sensibility,  their  tender  regard  for  the  feelings  of 
others,  must  sympathize  not  only  for  my  daughter,  but 
for  one,  also,  almost  as  dear  to  me." 

"And  that  one  is" 

"Is  Charles,  dear  boy,"  said  Mildred,  sobbing.  She 
again  fell  back,  and  other  tears  came  to  add  emphasis. 
They  were  the  italics  of  her  strong  sentences. 

"  Madam,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Brandon,  profoundly  im- 
pressed, "  you  astonish  me."  And  his  perceptions  being 
by  no  means  as  quick  as  Mildred's  flattery  implied,  his 
face  denoted  bewilderment  almost  comical-. 

Mildred  slowly  recovered ;  not  too  fast>  she  was  too 
good  a  tactician.  "  My  dear  Mr.  Brandon,  I  feel,  now 
that  I  have  told  you  the  secret  of  'my  tenderest  charge, 
that  we  can  better  sympathize  with  each  other.  And 
how  will  you,  generous  man,  be  pained  at  the  thought 
that  Charles  has  been  too  pointed  in  his  attentions  to 


MR.  BRANDON   INDIGNANT.  123 

Blanche !  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  impute  blame  to  him  ; 
it  grieves  me  to  do  so ;  yet,  can  I  refuse  the  evidence  of 
my  own  senses  ?  I  see  her  drooping,  and  he  no  longer 
approaches  her." 

"And  you  have  no  doubt  that  my  son's  dereliction  is 
the  cause  of  her  melancholy  ?  " 

"I  fear  so.  I  would  not  have  you  understand  that 
Charles  actually  proceeded  to  the  length  of  addressing 
her ;  but  there  are  other  modes  of  winning ;  we  know, 
dear  sir,"  said  the  artful  woman,  "how  such  things  are 
done." 

She  paused  to  mark  the  effect  of  her  maneuvers.  She 
had  touched  the  right  key.  The  proud  old  aristocrat 
was  a  man  of  honor ;  and  the  idea  that  Charles  had  ever 
ventured  to  tamper  with  the  affections  of  any  lady,  stirred 
him  to  anger.  But  his  sense  of  honor  was  ever  inconsist- 
ent, and  he  could  see  no  wrong  in  his  own  course  towards 
Lucy,  whose  love  Charles  had  won. 

With  Blanche,  however,  his  son's  equal,  the  case  was 
very  different;  he  perceived  her  wrongs  clearly,  and 
thought  her  the  most  aggrieved  of  her  sex.  He  now 
burst  out  in  anger:  "He  shall  make  reparation  for  his 
injuries,  madam ;  he  shall  make  reparation,  and  quickly ; 
by  heavens  he  shall  marry  your  daughter ! " 

"  Oh !  not  unless  he  loves  her,"  faintly  suggested  Mil- 
dred, who  cared  little  whether  he  did  or  not ;  "  not 
unless  he  loves  her." 

"  It  is  nothing,"  said  Mr.  Brandon,  vehemently ;  "  he 
ought  to  love  her,  madam,  and  he  shall." 

"  But,  suppose  he  cannot  ?  " 

"Cannot,  madam?  cannot?  Do  not  talk  to  me  of 
cannot.  I  say  he  shall ;  and  he  shall  marry  her  too,  if  I 
insist ! " 

"  Be  more  calm,  my  dear  Mr.  Brandon,"  said  Mildred, 


124         BRANDON  ;    OR,    A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

recovering  her  spirits.  "  I  must  go  to  Newport,  in  a  few 
days,  for  the  health  of  my  sweet  charge,  and  we  can  man- 
age it  all  on  my  return." 

"  Of  course  we  can.  Yes,  madam,  we  can.  You  are 
light,  you  are  right.  Go  to  Newport ;  and  I  give  you 
the  word  of  a  Brandon — a  word,  madam,  which  never 
was  broken — and  I  flatter  myself,  that  few  houses  can  say 
as  much ;  my  word  for  it,  I  say,  that  on  your  return  you 
shall  find  my  son  ready  to  do  exactly  as  we  say.  So,  go 
to  Newport,  madam ;  bid  your  daughter  put  on  her 
brightest  looks  again,  and  she  shall  shortly  be  the  loveli- 
est bride  in  the  colonies.  Have  no  fears,  madam — have 
no  fears,  my  command  is  to  be  obeyed;  never  gave  a 
command  in  my  life  that  was  not.  Did  I  ever  inform  you 
what  summary  work  I  made  with  my  son's  silly  love 
affair  ?  Would  not  listen  to  it ;  commands,  madam,  again 
obeyed,  you  see ;  and  as  for  the  girl  he  said  he  loved, 
I" — here  he  stopped  short ;  for  a  recollection  of  the  man- 
ner in  which  Lucy  had  faced  him,  gave  him  a  twinge  of 
agony, — "  she  went  home,"  he  continued,  faintly,  before 
detailing  to  Mildred  the  tyrannical  injustice  of  his  course. 

"And  how  did  Charles  bear  it?"  asked  the  plotter. 

"  He  naturally  rebelled  at  first ;  but  now  is  quite  sub- 
dued, and  bears  it  meekly  as  a  lamb.  I  know  that  he  has 
thought  better  of  it ;  in  short,  madam,  he  has  reflected, 
reflected,  madam ;  he  is  a  Brandon,  and  when  a  Brandon 
does  reflect,  he  remembers  the  ancient  honor  of  his 
house." 

"Indeed!"  thought  Mildred,  "if  your  son  suffers  him- 
self to  be  ruled  by  you,  he  must  have  left  his  brains  at 
the  north;"  but  she  closed  the  interview,  without  ex- 
pressing this  opinion  aloud,  congratulating  herself  in  the 
happy  prospects  of  her  daughter,  and  leaving  Mr.  Bran- 
don to  prepare  his  son  for  the  destiny  awaiting  him. 


MR.  BRANDON    INDIGNANT.  125 

He  saw  Charles  at  once,  and  was  much  astounded  to 
find  his  overtures  received  in  any  but  a  lamb-like  manner. 
His  eulogium  on  Blanche,  the  promised  splendor  of 
his  wedded  life,  and  the  words;  "My  son,  be  a  good 
boy,  and  think  no  more  of  this  other  silly  matter ;  let  it 
pass  from  your  mind ; "  was  treated,  at  first,  with  indiffer- 
ence, and  then,  as  he  pursued  the  subject,  with  burning 
indignation. 

In  a  few  fiery  words,  Charles  told  his  father,  that  he 
was,  and  would  be,  master  of  his  own  affections — that  he 
wished  no  further  reference  to  Blanche — that  he  did  not 
love  her,  and  never  could — that,  moreover,  grave  and 
insuperable  reasons  existed  to  prevent  any  connection 
with  such  a  person,  as  her  mother.  His  heart,  he  said, 
was  unalterably  fixed  on  Lucy  Tyrrell ;  and,  even  if  he 
never  married  her,  neither  time  nor  trial  would  change 
his  love. 

In  vain  the  father  swore,  and  stormed,  and  threatened, 
that  if  his  son  did  not  marry  Blanche,  he  would  turn  him 
out  of  the  house. 

"  That  you  may  do,"  said  Charles ;  "  but  you  will  not 
thereby  accomplish  your  purpose.  Banish  me  from  your 
doors,  but  I  will  never,  never  marry  Blanche  Estcourt ! " 
The  irate  man  threatened,  as  he  had  many  times  before, 
to  cast  the  rebel  off  forever,  without  a  shilling. 

"One  fact  you  forget,  sir,"  said  Charles,  "that  the 
estate  is  entailed ;  and  in  such  a  manner,  that  you  cannot 
destroy  the  provisions  of  your  father's  will ;  you  may 
withhold  aid  during  your  life,  but  the  landed  property  is 
mine  at  your  death." 

This  was  the  opening  of  strife  between  the  father  and 
son ;  it  was  continually  renewed  with  increased  bitter- 
ness on  the  part  of  the  sire,  and  firmer  determination  on 
the  part  of  Charles.  His  mother  was  distressed  at  it, 


126         BRANDON  ;    OR,    A    HUNDRED    YEARS   AGO. 

beyond  measure ;  but  she  could  not  counsel  her  son  to 
change  his  purpose,  and  her  prayers  and  tears  availed  not, 
with  her  husband.  The  once  joyous  household,  was 
happy  no  longer,  and  deep  gloom  settled  on  the  mansion, 
the  former  chosen  seat  of  good  cheer  and  revelry. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

RETROSPECTION. 

IN  order  to  understand  more  clearly  the  dark  purposes 
of  the  unprincipled  Mildred,  and  those  secrets  which  she 
was  obliged  to  conceal  even  from  her  own  daughter,  we 
must  briefly  review  a  portion  of  her  life,  antecedent  to 
the  mysterious  abstraction  of  the  will. 

In  accordance  with  her  husband's  desire  of  removal  to 
America,  soon  after  their  marriage,  she  left  England 
with  him  and  their  daughter  Blanche,  then  a  young  infant. 
She  was  accompanied,  also,  by  a  widowed  sister,  and  her 
son,  a  boy  of  five  or  six  years  of  age.  The  deceitful  Jane 
Hook,  followed,  in  capacity  of  a  servant ;  and  the 
other  passengers  consisted  of  Captain  Brooke,  a  naval 
officer,  who  was  to  join  his  squadron  on  the  American 
coast,  and  a  petty  trader,  by  the  name  of  Elisha  Bai'low. 
He  had  been  valet  to  Brooke,  in  former  years,  and  had 
afterward  transacted  business  in  the  colonies,  sometimes 
in  one  place  and  sometimes  in  another;  and,  having 
broken  up  his  last  establishment,  was  now  returning  from 
a  visit  to  England,  where  he  had  purchased  a  stock  of 
goods — preparatory  to  settling  in  any  new  place  which 
he  might  think  favorable  for  traffic. 

The  voyage  was  a  long  and  boisterous  one  ;  the  ship 
crazy  and  leaky,  was  much  damaged,  and  during  a  heavy 
gale  off  the  coast,  the  captain  fearing  she  could  not 
weather  it,  resolved  to  run  for  Newport  harbor,  instead 
of  trying  to  fight  his  way  to  the  capes  of  Virginia  whither 
she  was  bound ;  and  accordingly  the  storm-tossed,  wearied 

(127) 


128        BRANDON  ;    OR,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

passengers,  were  delighted  to  cast  anchor  at  last,  and 
ride  securely  in  the  beautiful  Narraganset  Bay. 

Captain  Brooke  was  a  man  of  the  world,  who  had  pass- 
ed much  of  his  time  amid  the  gay  capitals  of  Europe, 
and  thoroughly  skilled  in  all  the  arts  of  corruption,  he 
sought  to  make  a  dull  voyage  agreeable  by  the  same 
system  of  pleasure  which  he  had  pursued  on  shore,  and 
by  which  he  had  ruined  the  peace  and  character  of  more 
than  one  woman,  who  had  trusted  to  his  words.  Bold 
and  unscrupulous,  with  little  belief  in  female  virtue,  he 
was  nevertheless  restrained  by  the  dignified  demeanor 
of  Mildred's  sister  Miriam,  who  permitted  no  approach  to 
familiarity,  and  he  could  not  but  respect  the  woman  who 
by  the  simple  purity  of  her  nature  kept  him  at  proper 
distance,  and  even  caused  him  to  think  better  of  the  sex, 
in  some  particular  instances,  than  he  ever  had  before. 
But  with  Mildred  herself  the  case  was  very  different ;  his 
keen  insight  into  character  soon  penetrated  her  hollow  in- 
sincerity ;  he  saw  that  she  cared  little  or  nothing  for  her 
husband,  and  that  her  affectation  of  piety  had  no  more 
reality  in  it,  than  some  other  attributes  of  which  she 
boasted.  Estcourt  was  too  much  confined  by  sea  sickness 
to  heed  the  intimacy  which  was  springing  up  between  his 
wife  and  Captain  Brooke,  and  a  cautious  management  of 
their  affairs,  entrusted  to  Jane  Hook  on  Mildred's  part, 
and  to  the  sneaking  trader  Elisha  Barlow  on  Brooke's, 
established  a  correspondence  which  grew  more  tender  as 
the  voyage  was  protracted.  Lost  to  honor,  Mildred  lost 
caste  even  in  the  estimation  of  the  wretches  who  aided 
her  downfall,  but  she  little  dreamed  that  retribution  was  to 
come,  and  in  great  measure  to  be  inflicted  by  their  hands. 

Let  us  dwell  on  this  no  more  ;  the  guilty  woman  was 
soon  left  by  Captain  Brooke  who  went  off  to  join  his 
squadron,  and  all  the  Estcourt  family  (for  Miriam  bore 


RETROSPECTION.  129 

the  same  name)  determined,  before  setting  out  for  Vir- 
ginia, to  remain  for  a  while  in  Newport,  charmed  by  the 
beauty  of  the  island. 

And  now  Mildred's  punishment  commenced  ;  she  dis- 
covered too  late  the  dreadful  mistake  she  had  made  in 
placing  herself  within  the  reach  of  such  creatures  as  Jane 
Hook  and  Elisha  Barlow. 

The  trader  began  the  work  of  torture  by  such  means 
as  a  vulgar  knave  would  resort  to,  a  threat,  a  demand  of 
hush  money,  or  there  would  be  revelations  of  damning 
character,  which  would  produce  scenes  not  easily  quieted 
between  Mildred  and  her  husband. 

Bold  and  daring  as  she  was  by  nature,  Mildred  shrunk 
with  terror  at  this,  for  guilt  and  cowardice  are  allied.  She 
was  reduced  to  the  dire  expedient  of  asking  the  advice 
of  Jane  Hook,  whom  but  a  brief  season  before  she  would 
have  discharged  in  an  instant  had  she  dared  to  offer  her 
counsel.  The  friend  in  need  of  course  thought  that  Barlow 
meant  in  earnest  what  he  said,  that  a  little  money  would 
quiet  him,  and  that  though  she  hated  to  gratify  such  a 
villain,  yet  perhaps  it  was  the  only  course.  She  would 
undertake  to  see  him,  and  oblige  him  to  make  oath  never 
to  trouble  her  mistress  more,  as  soon  as  his  demand  was 
satisfied.  To  this  Mildred  agreed,  little  dreaming  that  the 
two  harpies  were  combined  together  to  plunder  her,  and 
Jane  returned  from  her  errand  with  the  information  that 
Barlow  was  quite  content  with  the  sum  paid  him,  and 
would  harass  her  no  further.  This  was  a  lie,  for  they  had 
agreed  to  share  the  booty  and  extort  every  shilling  they 
could  from  her.  This  resolve  of  theirs  was  followed 
ere  long,  just  as  the  family  were  about  setting  out  for 
Virginia  to  settle  on  the  estate  Estcourt  had  purchased, 
by  a  demand  on  the  part  of  Barlow  of  such  magnitude, 
that  all  the  money  Mildred  had  in  her  own  possession 


130         BRANDON  ;    OB,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

could  not  satisfy  it.  Her  husband's  liberality  must  be 
appealed  to ;  here  was  a  dilemma ;  Jane  Hook  must  again 
be  consulted;  and  now  came  the  most  damnable  iniquity 
of  the  whole  plot.  Mildred  must  be  able  to  give  a  satis- 
factory reason  for  asking  this  sum  of  her  husband,  and 
step  by  step,  by  devilish  art  in  hints,  and  suggestions,  the 
absolute  necessity  of  the  case  making  it  imperative  for 
some  desperate  move,  the  baited,  distracted  woman,  was 
induced  to  connive  at  a  plan  which  should  give  her  the 
money,  and  discharge  her  persecutor  by  throwing  her 
own  guilt  upon  her  innocent  sister.  Horrible  as  was  this 
scheme  there  was  no  other  escape  for  her,  and  she  reasoned 
with  herself;  "This  cannot  last  forever.  I  shall  be  free 
from  that  leech  Barlow  in  Virginia ;  Estcourt  I  know  will 
not,  cannot  live  long,  he  is  desperately  ill  now.  The  story 
of  Miriam's  shame  will  not  be  known  beyond  our  own 
household,  and  at  my  husband's  death  I  will  renew  our 
intercourse,  tell  her  that  I  was  imposed  upon  by  false 
stories,  and  all  will  be  well  again." 

Monstrous  wickedness !  and  yet  she  adopted  it  in  de- 
spair. With  the  same  arts  by  which  she  had  been  worked 
upon,  and  to  which  she  now  lent  her  own  aid,  Estcourt 
was  taught  to  believe  that  his  sister-in-law's  conduct  had 
been  such  that  she  could  not  with  propriety  become  a 
member  of  his  household,  as  had  been  intended.  It  was 
much  better  now  that  she  should  be  given  enough  to 
make  her  comfortable  in  retirement  in  Newport,  which 
could  easily  be  done  by  adding  something  to  the  little 
property  she  possessed,  and  leaving  her  to  repent  of  her 
sins  at  leisure.  Thus,  under  pretence  of  aiding  her  sister, 
Mildred  would  secure  the  money,  which  would  go  to  feed 
the  insatiate  maw  of  Elisha  Barlow. 

Mr.  Estcourt  could  scarce  believe  when  he  heard  of 
Miriam's  conduct ;  but  everything,  by  false  swearing,  was 


RETROSPECTION.  131 

perfectly  proved.  There  was  such  exquisite  skill  in  the 
hints  and  confessions  of  Barlow  and  Jane  Hook,  when, 
at  Mildred's  suggestion,  they  were  questioned  on  the  sub- 
ject! Such  dreadful  fears  had  Jane  had,  which,  alas! 
had  proved  too  true ;  and  such  deep  contrition  was  ex- 
pressed by  smooth-tongued,  smirking  Elisha,  that  he  un- 
wittingly had  ever  had  anything  to  do  with  the  business! 
"  If  he'd  only  knowed  the  contents  of  them  ere  little  notes, 
nothink  would  have  tempted  him!"  etc.,  etc.,  that  all 
appeared  to  Estcourt  as  clear  as  daylight.  He  was 
shocked  and  indignant ;  but  he  had  a  kind  heart,  and  on 
Mildred  making  him  promise  that  he  would  not  see  her 
sister,  alleging  that  her  distress  was  too  great,  he  readily 
offered  a  larger  sum  than  his  wife  asked  for.  She  took  it, 
and  thus  was  enabled  to  carry  out  a  double  purpose — to 
silence  the  knave's  tongue  and  endeavor  to  alleviate 
Miriam's  situation  by  the  miserable  consolation  of  money. 
There  was  yet  another  part  to  play  in  this  stupendous 
game — that  towards  her  sister  in  person;  but  it  was 
managed  with  the  same  address  which  had  attended 
other  stages  of  it,  and  was  rewarded  with  like  success. 
The  loss  of  Miriam's  husband,  to  whom  she  was  fondly 
attached,  had  preyed  upon  her  spirits  to  such  an  extent 
that  it  was  feared,  at  one  time,  her  reason  would  be 
dethroned.  She  was  recovering  in  some  degree ;  the 
voyage  proved  of  great  benefit  to  her,  and  the  care  of  her 
child  began  to  absorb  her  attention  and  draw  her 
thoughts  from  off  their  melancholy  fixedness.  Nor  was 
it  necessary  in  this  vile  plot  that  she  should  be  directly 
accused  and  scorned.  The  chief  points  were  already 
established — Estcourt's  belief  in  her  dishonor,  and  the 
money  secured. 

It  was    only  requisite  now  that   Miriam   should  be 
alarmed  and  disgusted ;  that  she  should  refuse  to  have 


132         BRANDON  J    OR,    A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

aught  to  do  with  one  who  even  suspected  her  of  wrong. 
This  was  difficult,  but  was  artfully  accomplished  by  Mil- 
dred's denial  that  any  one  but  her  husband  distrusted 
her. 

The  indignant  woman,  fired  with  the  bare  hint  of  such 
a  doubt  of  her  rectitude,  at  once  saw  that  by  keeping 
with  Mildred,  her  own  position  would  be  one  of  abject 
baseness,  almost  tantamount  to  a  confession  of  guilt.  She 
determined  not  to  leave  the  spot  she  was  in,  preferring  to 
educate  her  boy,  who  had  already  begun  to  display  a 
froward  nature,  in  the  ways  of  the  New  England  people, 
rather  than  amidst  the  more  luxurious  institutions  of  the 
south. 

Had  she  confronted  Estcourt,  all  this  structure  of  lies 
would  have  been  dashed  to  the  ground ;  but  Mildred's 
facility  in  making  one  falsehood  serve  to  conceal  another, 
prevented  the  meeting.  She  assured  Miriam  that  he  was 
far  from  looking  at  her  conduct  in  a  criminal  light,  but 
only  thought  she  had  been  rather  imprudent,  and  that  he 
loved  her  too  tenderly  to  breathe  to  living  soul  the 
faintest  word  of  what  he  scarce  credited  himself;  and 
furthermore  that,  owing  to  her  husband's  feeble  health, 
a  conversation  on  such  subjects  would  be  so  exciting  that 
it  might  injure  him  seriously.  Miriam  took  for  her  son 
the  money  handed  her  by  Mildred,  on  the  assurance  that 
it  did  not  come  from  Estcourt,  but  was  her  own. 

Jane  Hook  had  nothing  to  gain  by  tainting  Miriam's 
reputation  in  the  mind  of  any  one  but  Estcourt,  and  as 
for  the  pitiful  Elisha  Barlow,  he  considered  the  account 
fairly  balanced ;  that  the  wrongs  inflicted  on  the  inno- 
cent woman  were  compensated,  or,  as  he  expressed  it, 
"  credited,"  by  the  punishment  dealt  out  to  Mildred  ;  and 
for  his  forbearance  in  not  extorting  money  from  her 
sister,  or  attempting  to  do  so,  he  impiously  talked  of 


RETROSPECTION.  133 

treasures  laid  up  in  heaven,  from  which  bank  he  would 
receive  his  own  with  usury  when  he  came  to  present  his 
bill  upon  the  day  of  judgment.  He  congratulated  himself 
on  the  great  skill  he  had  displayed  in  the  management  of 
this  whole  matter,  frequently  chuckling  and  remarking, 
that  it  was  "  all  right,  all  right,"  a  set  phrase  of  his, 
which,  properly  interpreted,  meant  always,  all  wrong ! 
Now  the  scheme  of  crime,  of  cruelty,  and  of  robbery  was 
complete,  all  was  accomplished,  and  the  sisters  parted 
with  tears  and  sorrow,  feigned  on  the  part  of  Mildred 
but  real  with  the  sufferer  ;  one  went  with  her  husband  and 
child  to  Virginia,  bearing  with  her  a  load  of  guilt ;  the 
other,  strong  in  her  own  innocence,  and  happily  unconsci- 
ous of  the  wickedness  which  had  transpired,  remained 
with  her  son  in  Newport. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

BARLOW   A   VESTRYMAN. 

ELISHA  BARLOW,  having  begun  so  profitable  a  business 
much  sooner  than  he  could  reasonably  have  hoped  for, 
determined  at  once  to  settle  in  Newport,  then  far  more 
populous  and  flourishing  than  New  York. 

Some  men  bear  a  singular  resemblance  to  certain  of 
the  brute  creation,  their  characteristics  being  at  times  of 
marked  similarity ;  and  the  appearance,  motions,  and  de- 
meanor of  Elisha,  invariably  suggested  the  cat.  He  was 
of  moderate  height,  thin  and  meagre,  with  precisely  that 
stealthy  pace  in  his  walk  distinctive  of  the  feline  race. 
His  white  face  was  constantly  moved  by  a  smirk  which 
played  about  his  pale  lips ;  while  his  starved  sandy- 
colored  whiskers  seemed  stunted  in  growth  by  the 
meanness  of  their  owner.  His  eyes,  which  were  of 
greenish  grey,  dotted  in  the  pupils  with  minute  brown 
specks,  looked  as  if  ever  alert  for  a  victim,  and  a  habit 
of  jerking  his  head  up  and  snuffing  at  the  same  time,  as 
if  he  scented  a  rat,  added  to  his  cat-like  attributes. 
There  must  be  mentioned  another  trick,  of  snapping  his 
long  nails,  and  cracking  them  between  his  irregular,  and 
not  very  white  teeth,  when  he  found  himself  in  any 
position  of  difficulty,  and  we  complete  the  portrait  of 
this  human  grimalkin.  His  laugh  never  came  from  a 
greater  depth  than  his  teeth ;  one  may  imagine  that  an 
honest  dog  comes  very  near  laughter,  when  he  wags  his 
tail,  and  roars  out  a  good  hearty  bow  wow ;  but  the 
mirth  of  a  cat  consists  only  in  a  purr,  while  its  back  is 
up,  and  its  claws  ready  for  scratching.  Thus  the  puss-like 
(134) 


BARLOW    A   VESTRYMAN.  135 

Elisha's  smirk  of  satisfaction  was  the  best  indication  that 
somebody  had  been  bitten ;  or  that  he  was  preparing  for 
a  spring.  He  was  as  ignorant  a  fellow  as  could  well  be 
found  in  the  colonies ;  his  language  was  a  sort  of  jargon, 
partly  the  English  of  the  mother  country,  and  partly  the 
provincial  dialect  of  the  low  orders  of  Virginia  ;  that  of 
whites  mingling  much  with  negroes  ;  and  while  a  diffuse 
talker,  his  chatter  never  amounted  to  any  thing  worth 
hearing  or  remembering.  He  was  a  compound  of  every 
mean  and  sordid  quality ;  an  insatiate  love  of  money  was 
mingled  with  such  avarice,  (legibly  written  on  his  low, 
Avrinkled  forehead,)  that  these  traits  frequently  stood  in 
the  way  of  his  own  interest,  even  when  urging  him  on  to 
commit  every  petty  piece  of  knavery,  as  well  as  fraud, 
upon  a  large  scale.  No  villainy  was  too  great  or  too 
little  for  him.  Narrow  as  was  his  intellect,  it  could  em- 
brace both  extremes  of  iniquity ;  while  extraordinary 
vanity  induced  him  to  think  that  his  evil  deeds  were 
quite  unknown,  and  that  he  was  considered  a  model  of 
industry,  honesty,  and  liberality. 

His  habits  of  business  consisted  in  fuss,  semblance  of 
doing  immense  work,  which  was  only  trivial ;  low  shrewd- 
ness,  dictated  by  cunning ;  and  adroit  concealment  of 
rascality  by  a  show  of  candor.  And  his  universal  mode 
of  blinding  all  men  to  his  true  character,  was  by  hypoc- 
risy so  well  worn,  that  it  was  as  much  a  part  of  him  as 
his  clothes  ;  and  which  particularly  manifested  itself  by  a 
profession  of  religion.  Conspicuous  attendance  at  church, 
and  at  religious  meetings,  had  so  imposed  upon  the  sin- 
cere worshippers  of  "  Trinity,"  that  he  had  been  chosen 
one  of  the  vestry ;  and  wished  it  to  be  thought  that  he 
was  on  terms  of  great  intimacy  with  the  pastor,  the 
Reverend  Thomas  Pollen. 

"Well,  reelly  now,"  said  Elisha  very  frequently,  "reelly, 


136        BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

there  is  nothink  as  does  my  heart  as  much  good,  as  com- 
ing up  to  the  tabernickle  these  ere  Sunday  mornin's.  If 
I  acted  as  some  of  them  are  men  does  yonder,  I  should'nt 
like  to  show  my  face  here ;  I'd  resign  my  place  in  the 
vestry.  What  I  do  like,  is  to  see  men  act  honest.  I 
always,  every  Saturday  night,  afore  I  say  my  prayers,  try 
to  think  if  I've  done  anythink  in  the  week  to  keep  me 
from  feelin'  all  right ;  and  if  I  haven't,  I  can  walk  about 
the  town  so  peaceful,  with  the  testament  of  a  good  con- 
science ;  and  I  can  go  down  to  the  pier,  and  feel  so  happy 
to  think  how  my  vessel  will  soon  come  in  from  the  islands, 
and  reward  me  openly." 

"  Neighbor  Tilley,"  Elisha  might  add,  while  waiting  at 
the  church  door  for  the  pastor  to  come,  and  speaking  in 
a  soft,  smooth  voice,  "  I  s'pose  you  doesn't  know  what  ne- 
groes is  quoted  at,  now,  in  Jamaica  ?" 

And  neighbor  Tilley,  very  likely  astounded  at  such  a 
question,  at  such  an  hour,  would  look  surprised,  and 
briefly  answer,  "  no ;"  when  Elisha  would  observe,  "  no 
matter,  merely  thought  I'd  jest  mention  it." 

He  had  a  very  nice  little  way  of  "jest  mentioning  it," 
when  anxious  to  sound  any  one  about  a  matter  in  which 
he  was  not  quite  sure  he  could  cheat  him  undetected. 

Then,  without  staying  to  ask  neighbor  Tilley  any  more 
questions,  he  would  enter  the  church,  and  with  the  softest 
cat  motion,  steal  up  the  aisle,  with  eyes  humbly  bent  down, 
and  the  most  delicate  smirk  playing  about  his  lips ;  and 
then,  in  the  pew,  he  would  smoothly  revolve  in  his  mind 
the  price  of  "  wool  and  ivory,"  in  Jamaica.  He  would 
think  that  just  about  this  time  his  sharp  little  brig  must 
have  planted  a  cargo  of  "  niggers "  there  pretty  safely, 
and  at  so  much  a  head  ;  she  would  take  sugar  in  return, 
which,  in  its  rotation,  would  be  melted  into  rum,  in  one 
of  the  twenty-two  distilleries  then  flourishing  in  Newport. 


BARLOW   A   VESTRYMAN.  137 

The  spirit  would  be  shipped  out  to  the  coast  of  Africa, 
where  it  would  buy  another  lot  of  slaves,  worth  so  much. 
And  this  delightful  calculation  was  indulged  in,  until 
Etisha  was  in  such  a  frame  of  mind,  as  not  easily  to  be 
moved  by  a  sermon  from  those  startling  words,  "  What 
shall  it  profit  a  man,  if  he  gain  the  whole  world,  and  lose 
his  own  soul?"  Then,  with  what  excessive  humility  would 
he  hand  round  the  plate  for  collection ;  and  before  he  laid 
it  down  again,  pause,  when  he  felt  most  eyes  were  look- 
ing at  him,  and  with  a  careful  effort  at  concealment  sure 
to  attract  notice,  place  a  broad  piece  of  silver  in  it.  Yes, 
Elisha  thought  that  everything  looked  "  all  right,  all 
right!"  Doubtless,  those  numerous  half  crowns  de- 
posited for  so  many  Sundays  in  such  a  number  of 
years,  would  be  cared  for  with  compound  interest,  and  roll 
up  for  him  at  least  a  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  salvation ! 
Barlow  the  vestryman  had  now  for  some  years  been 
doing  a  pretty  flourishing  trade  ;  by  dint  of  lying,  cheat- 
ing, and  saving,  he  had  accumulated  quite  a  handsome 
sum.  His  shop  in  the  main  street,  was  full  of  goods  of 
all  kinds,  including  groceries ;  and  a  constant  throng  of 
buyers  from  morning  till  night,  indicated  a  lively  business. 
All  things  looked  fair,  and  above  board ;  Elisha  always 
endeavoring  to  impress  the  public  with  the  extraordinary 
advantages  to  be  obtained  in  buying  of  him ;  and  few 
knew,  excepting  his  poor  clerks,  that  all  was  not  as  it 
should  be.  Cutting  their  wages  down  to  the  lowest 
point,  he  ground  as  much  work  out  of  them  as  they  could 
do  ;  but  as  sure  as  any  of  them  began  to  suspect  him  of 
trickery,  and  manifested  the  least  distrust,  they  were  im- 
mediately given  notice  to  quit,  recommended  to  try  some 
other  situation  as  the  work  was  too  hard.  Then,  per- 
haps, Elisha's  partners,  for  he  had  various  partners,  every 
one  of  whom  he  swindled  in  turn,  wondering  at  this, 


138          BRANDON  ;   OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

would  be  quieted  by  "  he  thought  he  had  mentioned  it." 
This  phrase  was  of  similar  purport  to  that  of  "  no  matter, 
thought  he'd  jest  mention  it ; "  and  was  in  frequent  use 
whenever  any  piece  of  knavery  was  to  be  slurred  over, 
as  of  no  moment.  It  was  not  known,  however,  that  Eli- 
sha's  business  was  partly  done  in  a  very  sly,  underhand, 
underground  manner ;  that,  in  fact,  he  had  a  private 
understanding  with  some  professional  gentlemen,  vulgarly 
called  smugglers ;  who,  with  that  disdain,  characteristic 
of  enlightened  minds,  regarded  revenue  laws  as  mon- 
strous impositions  on  the  spirit  of  the  age  ;  and  only  to 
be  obeyed  by  low  and  grovelling  plodders.  Elisha  fully 
coincided  in  this  opinion  ;  and  carried  it  out,  as  far  as  his 
own  safety  would  allow ;  though  he  would  have  looked 
with  affected  horror  upon  any  one  who  advocated  openly 
even  a  belief  in  their  injustice. 

There  was  a  secret  rendezvous  out  on  the  island  (of 
which  we  shall  say  more  in  another  chapter),  and  Elisha 
frequently  visited  it  in  the  dusk  of  evening,  returning 
safely  laden  with  silks  or  cloths,  which  had  not  been 
duly  entered  at  the  "  receipt  of  his  Majesty's  customs." 
These  articles  he  was  enabled  to  sell  at  good  profit,  tak- 
ing care  not  to  place  them  so  low  as  to  excite  any  suspi- 
cion in  the  mind^  of  buyers,  while,  at  the  same  tune,  ad- 
verting to  other  dealers  who  had  similar  goods  in  honest 
possession  at  a  little  higher  rate,  he  would  observe, 
"  Well,  reelly  now,  it  is  a  shame  how  them  are  men  tries 
to  keep  up  prices." 

But  Barlow,  with  all  his  nice,  smooth,  oily  manner,  now 
and  then  found  himself  in  such  a  corner  that,  like  a  cat,  he 
showed  his  teeth  and  claws,  when  a  steady  determined 
resistance  made  him  display  the  mean  abject  cowardice 
of  his  nature. 

Captain  Walrus,  a  bluff  sailor,  who  had  made  several 


BARLOW   A   VESTRYMAN.  139 

voyages  to  India  and  also  to  China,  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  dealing  with  him,  but  having  detected  Mm  in  a 
piece  of  rascality  by  which  he  would  have  made  a  large 
profit,  had  prevented  his  doing  so.  Elisha  was  thereby 
incensed  to  such  a  degree  that,  after  "  studying  over  it," 
as  he  was  accustomed  to  say,  he  concluded  to  scare  the 
captain  into  compliance  with  his  wishes,  and,  accordingly, 
sending  for  him  to  come  to  his  shop,  asked  him  to  walk 
up  stairs,  when  he  made  a  show  of  drawing  a  pistol, 
threatening  to  shoot  unless  paid  a  round  sum  on  the  spot. 
Captain  Walrus,  however,  only  coolly  doubling  up  his 
fist,  laid  it  gently  on  the  trader's  nose,  so  that  its  gigantic 
proportions  and  iron  weight  could  be  felt  with  eloquent 
emphasis,  and  then  slowly  backed  him  around  the  room, 
the  coward  exclaiming  with  terror,  "  Now  don't,  now 
don't !  "  The  captain,  contenting  himself  with  this,  and 
expressing  his  perfect  contempt  for  him  and  his  threats, 
took  care  to  inform  some  of  his  friends  that  he  considered 
Elisha  only  a  "  paper  tiger,"  an  epithet  which  he  had 
learnt  among  the  Chinese,  who  by  it  designate  a  bluster- 
ing fellow  without  courage. 

This  nickname  appeared  so  well  suited  to  Barlow,  that 
it  became  the  one  by  which  some  of  the  community 
generally  spoke  of  him,  and  we  shall  frequently  apply  it 
to  him  ourselves  in  the  course  of  the  ensuing  narrative. 


CHAPTEK    XVIII. 


LUCY'S  TBIAL8. 

IT  is  a  frequent  cause  of  annoyance  in  life  that  unprinci- 
pled and  designing  members  of  society  occupy  our  atten- 
tion, to  the  exclusion  of  those  whose  intimacy  we  desire 
to  cultivate,  and  who  are  capable  of  imparting  happiness. 
Mildred,  her  deeds,  and  her  accomplices,  occupy  much 
of  that  space  which  sympathy  would  lead  us  to  devote  to 
her  victims,  but  the  tale  must  be  told  in  accordance  with 
the  truth  of  its  events  as  they  actually  happened. 

When  Lucy  Tyrrell  again  saw  her  humble  home,  how 
changed  it  appeared.  She  left  the  island  a  child,  she 
returned  a  woman.  As  in  Tieck's  beautiful  story  of  the 
Elves,  the  "  Serena"  of  this  history  came  back  from  fairy 
land,  where  she  had  passed  bright  days,  until  the  King 
of  the  Magic  Realm  came  to  visit  it,  and  then  mortal 
must  tread  no  more  within  fairy  bowers.  The  golden 
gates  must  thenceforth  be  shut  upon  her,  and  conducted 
to  the  portal,  she  must  bid  a  long  farewell  to  all  that 
enchantment,  and  seek  again  the  home  once  so  dear,  but 
never  before  so  homely.  But  Lucy  Tyrrell  had  a  gene- 
rous spirit,  a  noble  heart,  and  she  felt  that  it  was  still  her 
duty,  tried  though  she  was,  to  be  her  parents'  solace, 
even  as  it  had  been  her  pleasure  before,  in  the  happiest 
hours  of  her  childhood.  How  often  then  had  her  merry 
laugh  rung  out  at  some  slight  mishap  in  her  mother's 
household,  and  such  a  sparkle  of  mirth  always  won  good 
humor  from  the  matron,  vexed  as  she  might  be.  When 
[140] 


LUCY'S  TEIALS.  141 

her  father,  saddened  at  the  prospect  of  his  lot,  had  sat 
desponding  in  his  study,  because  he  imagined  that  all  the 
thoughts  matured  in  his  mind  and  preached  as  glad  tid- 
ings unto  men,  were  but  as  pearls  flung  before  swine, 
how  often  had  Lucy,  by  a  gentle  kiss  upon  his  brow, 
roused  him  from  his  reverie,  when  looking  into  her  sweet 
face,  as  her  eloquent  lips  won  him  from  his  desk,  had  he 
passed  with  her  into  the  fresh,  pure  air,  and  felt  that  all 
his  toil,  all  his  care  was  amply  repaid  him ;  for  she  led 
him,  as  he  had  her  of  old,  along  the  strand  where  the 
wild  billows  tossed  in  the  shells,  and,  pointing  "over  the 
waste  of  waters  as  the  sun  sunk  from  view,  reminded  him 
of  her  childish  days,  when  he  had  told  her  of  golden 
visions  to  come  again  with  the  coming  morn,  and  why 
not  for  him  ?  Oh,  then  he  felt  the  recompense,  and  fold- 
ing his  darling  Lucy  in  his  arms,  while  he  kissed  her  with 
a  father's  holiest  kiss,  blessed  God  that  he  had  given  him 
such  a  child. 

She  was  ready  to  resume  her  duties,  a  poor  islander, 
once  more ;  but  at  first  she  hurried  to  her  little  chamber, 
whither  in  days  of  old  she  had  sometimes  fled,  and  was 
happy,  freed  from  intrusive  visitors.  There  she  now, 
unseen,  unheard,  sobbed  wildly,  in  the  bitterness  of  her 
heart.  At  last,  drying  her  tears,  she  looked  around  on 
her  neat,  narrow  room,  its  single  window  opening  upon 
a  landscape  of  bleak  downs  and  rocky  passes,  and  that 
friend  from  infancy,  the  mighty  sea.  Then  she  turned 
to  the  trim,  snowy  couch  which  a  mother's  hand  had  last 
smoothed,  the  rude  prints  which  decked  the  walls,  the 
cabinet  of  shells,  and  pebbles,  and  sea  mosses  which  she 
hud  gathered  with  her  own  hands.  Oh!  could  his 
picture  only  hang  among  those  prints,  it  would  redeem 
them  all.  His  image  was  glassed  in  her  memory ;  he  had 
been  her  teacher,  had  led  her  bright  mind  onwards  day 


142         BRANDON  :    OB,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

by  day  to  appreciate  a  better  art ;  but  he  was  not  visible 
to  smile  upon  these,  and  how  worthless  they  appeared. 
But  her  shells,  her  pet  shells  and  mosses,  which  she  had 
taken  such  pains  to  gather  bright  from  ocean,  these  she 
could  still  value,  for  they  were  the  gifts  of  nature,  and  he 
would  love  to  look  upon  them  if  ever  he  came  to  the  island. 
After  she  had  spent  an  hour  in  her  chamber  and  was 
calmed,  she  ventured  to  the  door  of  her  father's  study. 
She  knocked,  but  there  was  no  reply  ;  she  lifted  the  latch 
and  slowly  ventured  in,  thinking  that  her  father  might 
not  have  heard  her,  but  the  room  was  vacant.  The  win- 
dows were  open,  and  a  soft  autumnal  breeze  stole  into 
the  study,  and  gently  fanned  her  faded  cheek.  She 
closed  the  door,  and  seated,  looked  around  on  the  old 
familiar  objects,  but  no  tears  flowed  now.  For  hours  she 
sat  gazing  listlessly  on  those  volumes  wfrich,  in  her  former 
pride,  she  had  loved  to  arrange  and  keep  neat  for  her 
father's  hand.  At  times  she  would  totter  to  the  shelves, 
then,  in  utter  brokenness  of  heart,  sink  back  upon  her 
chair.  She  was  roused  from  her  trance  at  length  by  a 
kiss  upon  her  brow,  and  she  saw  her  father. — We  pass 
over  the  scene. 

She  day  after  day  came  to  his  study  and  lingered  near 
him  ;  she  gave  him  many  a  hint  to  speak  of  her  sorrows, 
but  he  spoke  not.  It  is  a  peculiarity,  and  a  very  unfortu- 
nate one,  in  the  New  England  character,  that  it  exacts 
implicit  obedience  from  childhood,  yet  seldom  rewards 
with  praise.  Nothing,  judged  by  its  cold  criticism,  is 
ever  well  done  ;  it  might  always  have  been  better  done. 
That  old  Puritan  spirit  is  harsh  and  stern  ;  that  spirit 
which,  like  flint,  would  strike  and  kindle  fire,  but  never 
melt,  and  though  Lucy's  father  displayed  far  less  of  its 
rigor  than  many,  and  had  ever  been  more  like  a  com- 
panion to  her  than  a  grave  parent,  yet  now  she  deeply 


LUCY'S  TRIALS.  143 

felt  it.  Now  she  found  in  her  father's  face  no  response 
to  her  own ;  no,  his  name  was  to  be  unheard,  forgotten 
— she  could  read  this  in  his  face.  With  her  mother  she 
had  never  enjoyed  the  same  communion  as  with  her 
father ;  and  now  occasionally  the  good-natured,  but  ill- 
timed  jest  about  crossed  love,  jarred  upon  Lucy's  ear. 
Gradually  becoming  more  resigned  to  her  melancholy 
fate— 

"  No  longer  she  wept,  her  tears  were  all  spent ; 
No  longer  she  wept,  and  she  thought  it  content : 
She  thought  it  content,  but  her  cheek  it  grew  pale, 
And  she  drooped  like  the  lily  broke  down  by  the  hail." 

But  she  yet  had  pleasures  hi  memory.  Her  uncle, 
pitying  her,  and  desiring  to  soothe  her  by  every  means 
in  his  power,  had,  with  her  father's  permission,  given  to 
her  the  harpsichord  over  which  she  had  enjoyed  so  many 
happy  hours,  and  now  with  her  music  she  could  at  once 
please  her  parents,  and  solace  her  own  heart,  as  she  drew 
from  the  keys  those  sounds  which  had  delighted  Charles 
Brandon,  when  he  had  praised  her  diligence  and  exulted 
in  her  progress. 

She  resumed  her  visits  to  the  cottages — not  as  she  was 
wont,  partly  with  a  view  to  amusement,  but  only  to  cheer 
and  help  such  as  were  sick  in  body  or  in  mind,  and  she 
would  often  pass  long  portions  of  the  day  with  them, 
nurse  them,  and  smooth  their  coarse  pillows  with  her  deli- 
cate hands,  or  read  to  them  from  their  Bibles,  when  they 
would  tell  her  that  the  Word  of  God  from  her  lips  sound- 
ed dear  to  them.  There  were  eyes  that  turned  upon 
their  bed  of  illness,  to  look  after  her  with  a  blessing  as 
she  withdrew  at  evening,  and  shone  brighter  as  she  came 
again  with  another  morning;  and  there  were  hard  rough 
hands  which  had  grown  knotted  hi  the  battle  of  life  till 


144         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

they  felt  like  iron,  which  now,  at  the  least  touch  of  her 
soft  fingers,  would  open  and  gently  play  with  them,  and 
give  that  pressure  of  gratitude  which  their  feeble  words 
could  not  express. 

Sometimes,  when  the  sick  would  ask  her  to  tell  them 
of  her  life  while  away  from  them  in  the  city,  and  which 
they  thought  must  have  been  a  round  of  pleasure  and 
happiness,  she  would  try  to  do  so,  and  speak  of  any  sight 
or  amusement  which  she  deemed  likely  to  interest  them, 
although  a  constant  memory  of  Charles  wove  itself  into 
all  her  thoughts,  and  pained  her,  for  she  could  scarcely 
speak  of  one  experience  of  that  time  in  which  he  did  not 
bear  part. 

She  had  waited  long  before  she  heard  from  him,  and 
with  a  sick  heart,  for  she  had  been  amazed  and  shocked 
at  the  receipt  of  the  two  blank  letters  which  Mildred  had 
sent.  She  was  utterly  at  a  loss  to  imagine  the  reason  for 
such  strange  conduct ;  the  handwriting,  too,  was  un- 
known, though  evidently  that  of  a  female.  Stranger 
still  that  these  missives  were  from  Williamsburg,  the  very 
spot  whence  Charles  had  told  her  his  letters  would  be 
sent.  She  rightly  thought  some  evil  agency  was  at  work. 
At  last  came  the  letter  which,  owing  to  Randolph's  care, 
had  escaped  the  clutches  of  Mildred.  She  anticipated 
many  such  pleasures,  when  her  father,  unwilling  that  she 
should  indulge  hopes  which  he  regarded  as  vain,  at  once 
expressed  his  disapprobation  of  the  correspondence,  and, 
writing  to  Mr.  Brandon,  forbade  it  altogether. 

This  was  cruel,  though  not  intended  to  be  so.  Lucy 
wrote  to  her  lover  for  the  last  time.  She  told  how 
deeply  it  grieved  her  not  to  be  even  able  to  continue 
writing  as  she  had  hoped,  but  that  she  should  never  love 
him  the  less,  that  in  spirit  she  would  always  be  with  him. 
She  urged  him  to  be  patient,  trusting  in  God,  and  not  to 


LUCY'S  TRIALS.  145 

abandon  hope ;  all  might  yet  be  well  with  them,  but  that 
she  knew  that  his  sense  of  honor  would  not  encourage 
her,  in  defiance  of  her  father's  injunction,  to  carry  on  a 
clandestine  correspondence.  In  con  elusion,  with  womanly 
delicacy  but  strong  love,  she  begged  him  to  see  as  much 
of  her  cousin  Matilda  as  he  could,  and  do  all  in  his  power 
to  make  her  happy  hi  her  new  home  separated  from  her 
parents.  This  request  was  interpreted  by  Charles  as  it 
was  meant,  for  he  knew  that  Matilda  would  be  sure  to 
write  to  Lucy  and  speak  of  him,  by  which  means  the 
lovers  would  not  be  utterly  cut  off  from  each  other,  but 
could  yet  interchange  affection  and  hope  for  happier  days. 
But  a  balm  to  Lucy's  wounded  spirit  came  from  the 
sea ;  she  daily  visited  the  shore,  as  she  always  had  in 
childhood,  when  she  watched  the  sinking  sun,  its  parting 
splendors  flushing  over  the  deep  and  far  heavenward  to- 
ward the  zenith ;  though  now  her  gaze  turned  not  upon 
its  glories,  but  like  her  spirit  looked  ever  to  the  south, 
where  lay  the  home  of  her  beloved.  Often  so  sad  in 
heart  that  she  longed,  like  Sappho,  to  bury  forever  her 
love  and  misery  beneath  the  waters,  still  she  stood  stead- 
fast, watching  as  if  expecting  him,  though  he  came  not, 
until  the  last  glow  faded  from  the  heavens  and  twilight 
fell  upon  another  weary  day.  Yes,  a  balm  came  to  her 
agonized  heart  from  out  the  sea ;  she  loved  it  as  more 
than  a  friend ;  when  but  a  child  it  had  sent  its  delicate 
foam  in  play  across  her  tiny  feet  as  she  trod  the  shore, 
and  it  had  told  her  many  a  tale  of  wonder  and  delight  in 
the  pebbles  and  pretty  shells  it  had  strewn  before  her. 
As  she  grew  older  it  had  become  a  teacher ;  its  voice,  which 
the  Almighty  gave,  was  never  to  be  wearisome,  never 
silent,  and  even  hi  her  sweet  slumbers  still  singing,  singing 
all  night  long  in  her  little  chamber,  and  around  the  rude 
old  house,  still  ever  on  the  watch,  hour  by  hour  sounding 


146         BKANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

"  all's  well,  all's  well."  And  now,  in  the  saddened  expe- 
rience of  her  maturer  life,  that  sea  seemed  to  look  up  into 
her  face  with  pity,  and  breathe  sympathy,  and  say  that 
all  the  trials  of  that  poor  heart  once  cast  upon  its  waters 
should  be  lost  in  its  immeasurable  depths.  And  then 
slowly,  but  sweetly  and  serenely,  as  she  sat  upon  its  shore 
and  looked  over  its  far  heaving  surges,  the  load  upon  her 
soul  grew  lighter ;  and  she  was  visited  by  visions  of  hap- 
pier days,  days  when  he  should  at  last  obey  the  magnet 
power  of  those  persuasive  eyes,  and  come  once  more  to 
bless  her. 

In  silence  she  breathed  to  the  deep  listening  sea  all  her 
hopes  and  fears,  all  her  tender  and  most  secret  thoughts, 
and  it  gave  back  peace  ;  peace  far  better  than  the  hope 
deferred  which  maketh  the  heart  sick ;  and  from  daily 
watching  by  the  brink  of  ocean,  she  rose  with  gentler 
feelings,  with  new  emotions,  which,  if  not  of  hope,  were 
yet  not  despair  ;  with  strength  which  enabled  her  once 
again  to  smile,  and  to  cheer  her  parents  in  the  poor  old 
home. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

RACHEL'S  HISTORY. 

RACHEL,  the  recluse,  heard  of  Lucy's  story  soon  after 
her  return  to  the  island.  As  we  have  before  seen,  she 
was  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  Mr.  Tyrrell,  and  he  had 
told  her  of  his  daughter's  misfortunes.  She  had  appeared 
strangely  interested  when  she  heard  the  names  of  Mildred 
and  Blanche  mentioned  ;  and  without  informing  the  pas- 
tor of  her  resolves,  sent  for  Lucy  to  come  and  see  her,  as 
she  now  determined  to  inform  her  of  her  own  history. 
She  saw  clearly,  much  more  so  than  the  clergyman  could, 
what  evil  spirit  was  at  work  ;  and  when  she  appointed  a 
time  for  Lucy,  she  told  her  to  bring  with  her  those  blank 
letters,  of  which  she  had  been  informed,  as  she  wished  to 
examine  their  superscription.  Lucy  obeyed,  and  set  out 
on  her  visit.  It  was  an  October  afternoon,  chilly,  and 
gusty  ;  and  the  sunbeams  could  scarce  pierce  the  masses 
of  heavy,  gray  clouds,  which  hung,  lowering,  over  the 
sea,  imparting  to  it  their  own  leaden  hue,  varied  by  the 
occcasional  slants  of  light,  which  fell  upon  its  waters. 

The  wind  was  rising,  the  surf  dashed  upon  the  shore 
with  a  long,  moaning  sound,  as  before  a  tempest ;  the  sea 
birds  flew  around  with  wild  shrieks ;  and  one  or  two  ves- 
sels in  the  offing,  were  making  all  sail  for  harbor,  ere  the 
tempest  should  gather  upon  them. 

Lucy  found  Rachel,  as  usual,  alone ;  serene  and  stately. 
"  I  have  heard  your  sad  story,  my  poor  child,"  she  said ; 
"  I  grieve  for  you,  deeply.  You  can  scarce  believe  me 

(147) 


148         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

that  I  may  be  enabled  to  do  you  a  service ;  but  you  must 
first  listen  to  the  history  you  have  so  often  asked  for.  It 
is  little  worth  the  hearing ;  yet  it  is  the  true  story  of  a  life, 
and  one  life  is  as  much  from  God  as  another.  Your 
sorrow  has  come,  but  may  it  be  your  lightest.  Now, 
wait  an  instant,  and  I  will  tell  you ;"  and  she  arose,  and 
opening  the  door,  looked,  as  she  was  often  accustomed 
to,  over  the  wild  sea,  as  if  in  search  of  some  vessel ;  then, 
coming  back,  reseated  herself,  and  began. 

"  You  know  that  I  came  from  England.  I  was  born  in 
luxury,  and  reared  with  tender  care  ;  and  at  an  early  age 
was  married  to  one  I  dearly  loved ;  but,  in  a  short  time 
after  my  marriage,  my  parents  were  both  carried  off  by 
a  malignant  fever  which  desolated  London. 

"  My  father,  the  son  of  a  celebrated  statesman,  did  not 
love  his  father,  who  was  always  harsh  and  unkind  to 
him ;  and,  immigrating  to  this  country,  after  a  few  years 
in  it  alone,  determined  to  make  a  pennanent  settlement 
with  his  family.  He  went  back  to  England  for  them ; 
when  he  was  seized  with  the  disease  I  mentioned,  which 
swept  off  thousands  in  a  few  weeks.  He  left  but  a  small 
property.  My  ills  began  with  that  first  and  dreadful  be- 
reavement. Save  my  husband,  I  was  nearly  alone  in  the 
world.  I  had  a  sister ;  but  she  has,  indeed,  been  to  me 
rather  as  a  fiend ;  and  in  her  the  fierce,  unloveable  spirit 
of  my  grandsire  early  displayed  itself.  My  father  used 
to  say,  that  he  feared  she  would  bring  down  his  gray 
hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave  ;  but  I  rejoice  that  he  was 
spared  the  misery  I  have  borne.  My  husband  was  of  the 
same  rank  in  life  with  me  ;  for  both  families  belonged  to 
the  gentry  of  the  land ;  but  he,  being  a  younger  son,  did 
not  inherit  a  tithe  of  the  property  which  the  entail  placed 
in  the  hands  of  his  elder  brother.  But  that  was  of  little 
moment,  for  he  loved  me  dearly,  and  a  happy  life  I  looked 


RACHEL'S  HISTORY.  149 

for.  But  the  fever  which  had  killed  my  father  and  mother, 
had  ruined  his  health  ;  for,  after  nursing  them  in  their 
dreadful  illness,  when  nurses  and  surgeons  fled  from  con- 
tagion, and  the  only  sound  in  the  streets  was  the  dead- 
cart  rumbling  by,  he  himself  was  attacked  by  the  same 
disease  ;  and  though  he  rose  from  his  bed  of  sickness,  it 
was  but  as  another  creature,  such  a  change  had  the  fever 
wrought  in  him,  who  was  before  so  strong  and  handsome. 
He  removed  from  London  to  Warwickshire,  not  far  from 
the  proud  castle  of  Warwick's  earl,  with  whose  family 
my  own  had  been  intimate  for  a  century  past.  But  the 
sweet  country  air  of  England  only  restored  my  husband's 
health  for  a  brief  season  ;  then  he  drooped  and  died ;  and 
lies  buried  in  the  yard  of  St.  Mary's  church,  amid  the 
relics  of  the  haughty  Brookes  and  Grevilles."  Here 
Rachel  paused  a  few  moments,  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands ;  then,  with  a  voice  which  trembled  with  agi- 
tation as  she  touched  upon  another  subject,  continued : 
"  he  left  but  one  to  bear  his  name,  a  son ;"  and  when  she 
thus  spoke,  she  turned  her  face  as  if  involuntarily,  and 
looked  out  of  the  window  towards  the  sea.  "  One  son, 
Sole  joy  that  was  left  to  me  on  earth.  And  now,  where 
is  he  ?  He  was  between  five  and  six  years  of  age  when 
my  husband  died,  and  I  thought  it  best,  because  of  my 
small  property,  to  come  to  America ;  for  here  it  would 
support  me  more  comfortably  than  in  England,  the 
country  of  the  rich  alone.  My  sister,  too,  and  her  fam- 
ily, were  about  coming  over,  and  I  joined  them  in  Lon- 
don, whence  we  all  sailed  together.  It  is  a  long  time  past; 
eighteen  long  years  of  sorrow  and  misery.  And  yet  no 
end  to  all  woe." 

And  here  Rachel,  whom  the  reader  has  already  dis- 
covered to  be  Mildred's  sister,  gave  Lucy  an  account  of 
the  voyage,  and  of  Barlow  and  Jane  Hook,  as  well  as  of 


150        BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

Captain  Brooke,  whom  she  had  known  in  England ;  but 
whom  she  did  not  at  the  time  of  the  voyage,  suspect  of 
any  improper  intimacy  with  her  sister.  She  continued 
her  story,  detailing  the  scenes  between  herself  and  Mil- 
dred at  Newport,  where  they  had  parted,  she  uncon- 
scious of  the  ignominy  which  had  been  heaped  upon  her. 
"  It  was  not,"  she  said,  "  until  after  the  death  of  my 
sister's  husband,  that  I  found  out  what  a  wretch  she  must 
be.  Thinking  she  would  be  glad  to  have  me  with  her  in 
Virginia,  to  comfort  her  in  her  affliction,  I  took  my  little 
son,  hoping  that  the  sight  of  his  bright,  handsome,  bold 
face  would  make  her  happier ;  as  he  could  be  playmate 
for  her  orphaned  child,  her  sweet  little  daughter.  But 
never  shall  I  forget  the  harsh,  bitter  treatment  I  received. 
Even  curses  were  mine ;  and  blows  might  have  been,  had 
I  remained  much  longer  with  her.  I  could  scarce  dream 
why,  until  my  unnatural  sister,  knoAving  that  I  was  inno- 
cent, accused  me  of  the  worst  of  crimes  but  murder,  told 
me  that  a  story  which  her  husband  believed,  of  my  shame, 
was  all  proved  true,  that  I  had  sinned  with  Captain 
Brooke,  and  that  all  the  world  should  know  it.  I  now 
saw  how  foully  I  had  been  slandered  in  Newport ; "  and 
here  Rachel  detailed  to  Lucy,  an  account  of  that  plot,  of 
which  the  reader  has  been  informed.  "This  was  too 
hard,  it  nearly  crushed  me ;  and,  gathering  my  scanty 
wardrobe,  I  induced  one  kind-hearted  black  to  remove 
me  with  my  child,  at  night,  from  the  hateful  abode  of 
slander  and  crime.  Yes,  crime  !  for  not  long  after  I  had 
returned  in  wretchedness  to  Newport,  that  dreadful  Jane 
Hook  appeared  there,  and  confessed  enough  to  make  me 
firmly  believe  that  she  had  committed  some  foul  deed;  what 
it  was,  she  would  not  say,  only  that  she  knew  I  was  inno- 
cent; that  she,  with  Barlow,  had  been  the  means  of 
blackening  my  character,  but  that  my  sister's  punishment 


RACHEL'S  HISTORY.  151 

had  now  begun,  and  that  she  should  show  no  mercy  to 
her,  the  guilty  adulteress,  in  expiation  of  her  own  sins, 
and  in  pity  for  me.  All  was  now  revealed ;  and  I  could 
account  for  my  sister's  hatred  of  me.  Still,  I  could  have 
lived  down  slander.  I  was  not  forced  to  beg  bread ;  and 
my  wretchedness,  extreme  as  it  was,  I  could  have,  per- 
haps, forgotten  in  time,  but  for  my  child." 

Here  Rachel's  recollections  came  again,  with  irresisti- 
ble power ;  she  bowed  her  head,  and  sobbing  wildly,  shed 
those  tears  of  frantic  sorrow,  which  give  almost  as  great 
pain  when  seen  and  listened  to,  as  when  wept  by  our- 
selves. "  My  poor,  poor,  lost  son,"  she  said ;  "  oh !  that 
I  could  but  see  him  die,  I  would  ask  but  to  close  his  eyes, 
and  bury  him,  and  watch  by  his  grave  until  death  should 
lay  me  beside  him  ;  then  could  I  feel  that  Heaven  would 
forgive  him,  and  accept  us  both.  My  son  Ralph  early 
displayed  a  spirit  like  that  of  his  great  grandsire  ;  bold, 
rash,  and  wilful.  He  was  ever  fond  of  escaping  from  me^ 
being  absent  for  hours,  and  as  he  grew  older,  for  days. 
The  sea  was  his  passion ;  he  was  born  to  live  upon  it,  and 
long  before  he  was  ten  years  old,  he  could  manage  a  boat 
with  perfect  skill ;  and  fearless  by  nature,  never  hesitated 
to  venture  outside  of  the  harbor  in  the  wildest  weather. 
Soon  he  acquired  a  perfect  knowledge  of  every  winding 
of  the  shore,  every  sounding  of  the  bay.  Frequently  it 
was  deep  night  before  he  would  come  into  harbor.  But 
this  love  of  the  sea  did  not  displease  me ;  for  I  was  glad 
that  he  was  disposed  to  lead  an  active  life.  I  shortly 
found,  however,  that  he  was  ruled  by  no  principle ;  nei- 
ther fear  of  God,  nor  love  of  me  influencing  him ;  though 
I  would  have  died  for  him.  He  neglected  his  studies ; 
refused  at  last  to  go  longer  to  school ;  and  what  could  I, 
a  weak  woman  do,  but  weep  and  pray  for  him  ?  His  days 
passed  in  idleness,  amidst  bad  companions;  he  learned 


152         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDEED   YEARS   AGO. 

their  wicked  ways,  and  lost  all  sense  of  shame.  At  last  he 
told  me  that  he  would  enter  some  shop,  and  learn  a  trade. 
I  had  fondly  hoped  that  he  would  finally  change,  and 
take  to  his  books,  that  the  pride  of  my  heart  might  be 
gratified  in  sending  him  to  college ;  for  which  purpose,  I 
had  saved  every  penny  I  could ;  and  had  almost  denied 
myself  food  and  clothes.  And  now,  it  pained  me  that  he 
should  engage  in  a  calling  in  which  I  knew  his  wild  and 
reckless  habits  would  never'serve  him.  But  when  I  found 
that  he  was  to  be  with  that  wretch,  Elisha  Barlow,  I 
gave  up  all  hope.  What  hold  the  villain  had  upon  him, 
I  could  not  then  tell ;  but  he  exercised  a  fascination  that 
drew  my  poor  boy  to  him.  I  knew  that  he  had  furnished 
Ralph  with  money,  for  some  services,  which  had  always 
been  spent  with  worthless  comrades,  in  drunken  revelry. 
When  I  begged  him  on  my  knees,  to  shun  the  miscreant, 
oh,  God !  then  he  mocked  me,  and  I  felt  that  my  cup  of 
misery  was  indeed  full.  By  some  means  unknown  to  me, 
Barlow  drew  Ralph  into  his  schemes,  as  he  had  done 
others ;  and  my  miserable  son  became,  before  he  was  six- 
teen years  of  age,  one  of  a  gang  of  marauders  and  smug- 
glers. No  doubt  his  tempter  was  in  league  with  these, 
one  or  two  of  whom,  it  was  supposed,  he  sent  to  the 
gibbet,  by  information  lodged  with  the  government,  so 
well  timed,  as  to  screen  himself  from  suspicion.  This 
Barlow  had  the  audacity  to  tell  me  that  he  knew  enough 
of  my  son  to  hang  him,  when  I  confronted  and  upbraided 
him  with  his  iniquity. 

"  Not  long  after  this,  during  one  of  those  unlawful  ex- 
peditions, Ralph's  life  was  jeopardized,  and  he  nearly 
caused  the  death  of  one  who  had  been  the  means  of  in- 
flicting cruel  wrongs  on  me.  The  little  vessel  to  which 
Ralph  belonged,  had  landed  goods  on  the  coast,  intended 
to  be  passed  into  the  country  without  duties,  and  while 


RACHEL'S  HISTORY.  153 

he  and  his  companions  were  busy  in  their  hiding  place, 
storing  their  contraband  articles  and  dividing  their  spoils, 
they  were  surrounded  by  some  of  the  revenue  officers, 
led  on  by  a  captain  in  the  navy,  who  had  discovered  their 
position,  and  had  cruised  off  the  coast  for  some  time  in 
hopes  of  capturing  their  vessel.  The  smugglers  made  a 
desperate  resistance ;  one  or  two  were  taken  and  after- 
wards executed,  the  rest  fought  their  way  through  their 
assailants  and  escaped. 

"  Ralph  was  engaged  in  a  struggle  with  the  captain, 
and  being  a  much  younger  and  more  powerful  man, 
easily  overcame  him  and  cut  him  down.  He  was  no 
other  than  Captain  Brooke,  who  had  exercised  so  fatal  an 
influence  on  our  fortunes.  And  now  my  tale  is  nearly 
told ;  a  price  is  set  upon  the  head  of  my  son,  but  he  seems 
to  bear  a  charmed  life ;  he  has  escaped  a  thousand  snares 
and  dangers,  and  still  pursues  his  unlawful  traffic  on  the 
seas,  and  every  man's  hand  is  against  him*" 

"  But  you  haye  not  yet  told  me  why  you  are  here, 
Rachel,"  said  Lucy,  now  hesitating  to  call  her  by  that 
designation. 

"  My  real  name,  Lucy,  is  Miriam ;  I  took  that  of  Rachel 
when  I  came  here  in  order  to  more  completely  elude  ob- 
servation. I  could  not  remain  in  Newport,  known  as  the 
mother  of  a  robber  and  a  pirate ;  no,  there  all  things  ap- 
peared to  run  red  with  blood,"  said  the  unhappy  woman ; 
"  here  at  least  I  can  hide  my  grief  from  every  eye." 

"  And  does  Ralph  know  that  you  are  here  ?  "  asked 
Lucy. 

"  Yes,  he  has  seen  me ;  now  ask  no  more  of  him." 

"  Not  of  him,"  answered  Lucy,  "  and  yet  one  question 
more.  What  was  your  sister's  name  ?  " 

"  Mildred,  Mildred  Estcourt," 

I  suspected  as  much,  thought  Lucy,  remembering  what 


154        BRANDON  ;    OB,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

Charles  Brandon  had  said  of  her  ruthless  character;  but 
I  did  not  know  one  could  be  so  wicked. 

"  Now,  Lucy,  darling,"  said  Miriam,  "  let  us  speak  of 
my  sorrows  no  more.  We  have  both  suffered  from  the 
wickedness  of  one  woman,  but  do  not  despair.  Let  me 
look  at  those  blank  packets  which  came  from  Virginia." 

Lucy  showed  them.  Miriam  regarded  the  superscrip- 
tions attentively,  and  said  nothing,  but  she  thought, — 
"  Just  as  I  deemed  would  prove  true — her  writing,  her 
writing.  Merciful  heaven !  grant  that  in  this  instance  I 
may  prevail ;"  and  her  thoughts  took  the  shape  of  resolves 
to  write  forthwith  to  two  persons,  who,  she  hoped,  would 
do  good  service  to  Lucy  Tyrrell. 

During  Miriam's  narrative,  the  wind  had  risen  to  full 
fury,  and  as  Lucy  walked  homewards,  the  whole  ocean 
was  lashed  into  foam ;  that  night  a  dreadful  tempest,  ac- 
companied by  thunder  and  lightning,  struck  terror  to 
her  heart.  Tbte  frightful  creatures  of  whom  she  had 
heard,  in  her  dreams  appeared  to  be  connected  with  her 
fate ;  and  the  tumult  of  the  elements  which  shook  her 
window,  was,  to  her  terrified  imagination,  some  hideous 
shape  striving  to  burst  the  casement,  and  seize  her  in  its 
grasp. 


CHAPTEK    XX. 

NEWPORT    OF    OLD. 

THE  quaint  little  town  of  Newport  was  very  much  the 
same  one  hundred  years  ago  that  it  is  to-day,  we  mean 
the  portion  of  it  lying  along  the  harbor ;  for  its  costly  and 
beautiful  villas  which  now  make  it  the  most  exquisite  of 
summer  residences,  are  the  creations  of  the  last  fifteen 
years.  "We  need  not,  therefore,  fully  describe  its  aspect 
at  the  time  of  our  story,  for  it  can  easily  be  seen  now  by 
any  one  of  a  party  who  trusts  himself  in  a  pleasure  boat, 
to  the  pilotage  of  Captain  King  of  the  "  Susan  H.  Lloyd," 
or  old  Father  Nason  of  the  "  Mary  N."  He  must 
imagine  that  he  is  a  loyal  subject  of  King  George  the 
Second,  instead  of  a  disappointed  office-seeker  under 
the  administration  of  James  Buchanan.  Then  forgetting 
his  grumbling,  as  he  shoots  past  the  light-house  on 
the  pier  at  the  end  of  Goat  Island,  let  him  look  over 
the  harbor  and  he  will  see,  with  one  or  two  slight 
changes,  such  as  a  steeple  here  and  there,  the  very 
Newport  of  our  story.  Here  were  studded  many  of  the 
same  houses  which  now  cause  the  stranger  to  wonder  at 
their  old  quaint  gables  and  carved  cornices ;  and  on  the 
brow  of  the  hill  stood  the  classic  Redwood  Library,  then 
the  recent  work  of  the  assistant  architect  of  Blenheim 
Palace.  Trinity  Church  spire  tapered  gracefully  aloft; 
and  the  mysterious  old  stone  mill,  since  rendered  a  hun- 
dred fold  more  interesting  by  the  genius  of  Cooper  and 

(155) 


156         BRANDON  ;    OE,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

Longfellow,  wore  the  same  ruined  look  it  bears  now. 
The  sunny  glades,  the  sequestered  dells,  and  the  wild  sea- 
shore, of  which  such  exquisite  descriptions  live  in  the 
poetry  of  Brooks,  and  Tuckerman,  and  Calvert,  were 
scarce  different,  only  more  lonely  then. 

The  tints  of  the  skies  were  as  pure  as  those  which 
have  inspired  the  coloring  of  Malbone  .and  Staigg,  in  their 
invaluable  miniatures,  and  the  rocky  cliff  and  the  blue  sea 
shone  bright,  but  had  not  then  charmed  a  master  painter 
like  Kensett. 

What  a  jewel  is  that  little  Rhode  Island,  with  which 
there  is  nothing  to  compare  on  the  whole  Atlantic  coast ! 
Shielded  alike  from  the  rigorous  cold  of  the  north  and 
the  burning  heats  of  southern  summers,  the  Gulf  Stream, 
which  plays  along  its  shores,  tempers  its  waters,  as  if  loth 
to  part  with  so  much  beauty,  kindly  freights  the  gales 
with  sweet  remembrances  of  its  warmth,  and  diffuses  in 
the  atmosphere  that  delicious  softness  conducing  to 
repose,  yet  without  the  langour  of  tropic  climes.  The 
island  scenery  is  of  every  varied  charm,  from  the  craggy 
shores,  the  smooth,  hard  beaches,  where  the  sea  birds 
circle  and  fishers  cast  their  seine,  to  the  wooded  glens, 
the  rich  teeming  meadow  lands,  the  round  bare  hills, 
crowned  here  and  there  with  the  breastworks  of  revolu- 
tionary days,  or  the  ancient  windmills  which  grind  the 
corn,  while  the  old  patient  pony  waits  for  hre  load, 
tethered  to  the  moss-covered  stone  wall. 

Who  loves  not  to  look  upon  the  dense,  dark  orchard  of 
gnarled  apple  trees,  the  cool,  deep  wells,  and  long  beam 
for  drawing  water,  the  peculiar  sycamores  lining  the  roads 
for  miles,  too  many  of  them  now  touched  by  decay  ;  the 
silent,  lonely  ponds  of  fresh  water,  decked  with  odorous 
lilies ;  the  historic  "  Hanging  Rocks,"  where  the  spiritual 
Berkeley  sat  and  wrote  his  deathless  works,  and  the 


NEWPORT   OP   OLD.  157 

greener  cliffs,  trod  in  long  hours  of  religious  musing  by 
the  eloquent  Channing. 

Lady  Mildred  and  Blanche  Estcourt  arrived  safely  in 
Newport  after  their  tedious  journey,  and  repaired  to  the 
public  house  of  that  day,  which  was  kept  by  John  Law- 
ton,  familiarly  called  "  Jack."  His  tavern  stood  nearly  op- 
posite to  the  State  House,  but  no  sign  of  it  now  arrests 
the  antiquarian's  attention.  The  snug,  cosy,  high-peaked, 
gabled  inn,  of  reddish  brown,  has  been  destroyed  to  make 
room  for  the  present  staring  white  shingle  palace,  known 
as  the  Park  House,  but  yet, 

"  Imagination  fondly  stoops  to  trace 
The  parlor  splendors  of  that  festive  place  ; 
The  whitewashed  wall,  the  nicely  sanded  floor, 
The  varnished  clock  that  clicked  behind  the  door  ; 
The  hearth,  except  when  winter  chilled  the  day, 
"With  aspen  boughs,  and  flowers  and  fennel  gay ; 
Where  village  statesmen  talked  with  looks  profound, 
And  news  much  older  than  their  ale  went  round." 

Jack  Lawton  did  one's  heart  good  to  look  at ;  rosy  and 
portly,  he  stood  in  his  top  boots  the  picture  of  independ- 
ence and  good  humor.  His  scarlet  waistcoat,  with  shin- 
ing buttons,  set  off  the  shape  of  his  capacious  paunch,  and 
was  pleasant  to  behold.  One  of  his  eyes  had  a  remark- 
able twinkle  in  it,  as  if  he  had  always  something  funny  to 
tell  of;  it  was  merrier  than  his  laugh,  for  that  began  so  far 
down,  and  had  so  much  fat  to  contend  with,  that  it  was 
nearly  stifled,  and  slowly  gurgled  up  like  air  bubbles  from 
an  ale  butt. 

"  We  shall  remain,  sir,  some  time,  and  wish  therefore 
to  have  your  best  rooms,"  said  Mildred. 

"  Yes,  ma'rm  ;  I  will  show  you  one  room  I  can  give 
you,  the  same  one  as  famous  Dean  Berkeley  used  to  sleep 


158        BRA.NDON  ;    OR,  A   HUNDRED  YEARS   AGO. 

in  sometimes.  Dean  he  was  when  he  was  over  Trinity 
Church ;  bishop  he's  been  since  ;  dead  he  is  now,  ma'rm, 
these  five  years.  Lord  rest  his  soul,  ma'rm,"  and  Jack's 
countenance  would  have  looked  solemn  but  for  his  eye, 
which  was  twinkling  rapidly. 

"I  have  heard  of  Bishop  Berkeley,  a  famous  scholar; 
and  did  you  know  him  well,  Mr.  Lawton  ?"  Mildred  con- 
descended to  say. 

"  Know  him,  ma'rm  ?  would  know  his  bones,  poor 
soul !  It's  nigh  thirty  years  since  he  come  out  to  Rhode 
Island ;  stayed  here  two  and  a  half  year,  ma'rm,  and 
made  every  body  love  him.  He  preached  in  Trinity 
Church,  close  by  here,  where  you'll  see  the  organ  he  gave 
to  it ;  plays  most  beautiful,  with  a  crownd  on  top  on  it." 

"  And  he  sometimes  slept  in  this  room  ? "  asked 
Blanche. 

"  Yes,  miss,  sometimes  he  come  in  from  Whitehall, 
where  he  lived ;  its  three  mile  out  from  town.  I  always 
drives  strangers  out  as  likes  to  see  the  place,  and  I 
shows  'em  the  Hanging  Rocks,  too,  where  he  wrote  his 
books.  I  has  a  nice  copy  of  his  works,  miss." 

"  Ah,  have  you  read  them,  Mr.  Lawton  ?" 

"  Why  no,  miss,"  said  Jack,  very  frankly,  and  not  at  all 
confused ;  "  you  see  in  my  youth  I  has'nt  had  the  benefit 
of  much  schoolin',  and  them  works  of  the  bishop's  is  too 
deep  for  me ;  but  I  am  a  keeping  'em  for  my  little  girls, 
as  now  goes  a  schoolin'  to  Mrs.  Morpus,  and  I  am  proud 
to  say,  miss,  there  is'nt  two  smarter  girls  as  goes  to  school 
anywhere.  They  will  understand  'em,  in  course." 

"  You  are  very  proud  and  fond  of  the  memory  of  your 
good  bishop  I  find,  Mr.  Lawton." 

"Yes  indeed,  miss,  and  we  ought  to  be,  he  did  a 
great  deal  for  us  in  Newport,  though  he  stayed  such  a 
short  time,  only  two  and  a  half  year;  but  times  is  altered 


NEWPORT  OP  OLD.  159 

now,"  said  Jack,  despondingly,  "  they  is  not  so  good  as 
they  once  was." 

Innkeepers  are  not  apt  to  take  melancholy  views  of 
life,  but  it  is  a  peculiarity  of  the  race  all  the  world  over, 
and  worthy  of  note,  that  they  always  inform  their  patrons 
that  times  are  not  so  good  as  they  once  were. 

"  Then  those  days  were  very  pleasant,"  said  Blanche, 
willing  to  indulge  Jack  on  a  theme  which  appeared  so 
interesting  to  him. 

"  Lord  bless  us,  yes,  miss ;  there  was  Dean  Berkeley, 
and  Mr.  Callender,  the  parson,  and  Mr.  Redwood,  him  as 
founded  the  library,  you'll  see  it  on  the  hill,  and  other 
gentlemen  of  known  parts.  Sometimes  they  used  to  dine 
here,  and  always  said  I  gave  'em  good  wines.  I've  many 
a  time  since  heard  it  said  that  there  was'nt  no  such 
fine  society  anywheres  else  in  the  whole  colonies.  Ah, 
them  was  times !  "  and  Jack's  eye  in  his  enthusiasm 
sparkled  like  Sirius. 

"  And  who  is  settled  over  Trinity  Church,  now,  sir  ?  " 
asked  Mildred,  turning  the  conversation. 

"  The  Rev'd  Thomas  Pollen,  ma'rm ;  he  came  out  from 
England  about  four  years  agf6.ir  Nice  man,  but  he  can't 
come  up  to  the  Dean.  Mrs.  Morpus,  as  my  little  girls 
goes  to  school  to,  keeps  house  for  him;  there  she  go 
now,  ma'am."  Jack  pointed  out  of  the  window,  and  the 
ladies  saw  a  stately  figure  walking  with  solemn  grandeur 
at  the  head  of  a  troop  of  little  girls.  The  procession 
moved  with  remarkable  precision,  for  Mrs.  Morpus  prided 
herself  strongly  on  "  deportment,"  and  instructed  her 
pupils  to  assume  a  queenly  carriage  in  the  street.  Her 
presence  was  rendered  more  imposing  by  a  bonnet  of 
warlike  shape,  something  like  a  casque,  crowned  with 
heavy  ostrich  plumes,  which  to  classic  readers  recalled 
Hector's  helmet,  whose  "nodding  crest"  terrified  his 


160         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

infant.  A  corpulent  green  umbrella,  decorated  with  a 
long  brass  ferule,  a  ring,  and  a  hooked  horn  handle,  waved 
in  a  majestic  manner,  and  rather  added  to  the  formidable 
state  of  Mrs.  Morpus.  The  most  rash  man  might  well 
pause  before  encountering  that  lance  which  was  a  terror 
to  all  the  little  boys  in  Newport. 

"So  that  is  Mrs.  Morpus?"  said  Mildred;  "I  shall 
become  acquainted  with  her  when  I  see  Mr.  Pollen,  as  I 
intend  to.  Can  you  tell  me,  Mr.  Lawton,  if  such  a  per- 
son as  Elisha  Barlow  has  a  shop  in  this  town  ?  " 

Jack's  eye  at  this  question  winked  more  than  ever,  it 
glittered  like  a  whole  constellation  on  a  clear  winter's 
night. 

"  Yes,  ma'rm,  he  has ;  but  my  private  opinion  is,  that 
Lishe  Barlow  is  no  more  nor  less  than  a  willin.  I  never 
lets  him  come  nigh  me  with  his  palaver.  Mrs.  Morpus 
is  the  one  for  him,  too.  He  takes  to  his  heels  when  he 
sees  her  a  coming.  Does  you  know  him,  ma'rm  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  of  him.  If  we  wish  for  anything  more 
Mr.  Lawton,  we  will  call  you." 

"  Thank  you  ma'rm,  always  at  your  service ;"  and  mine 
host  bowed  and  took  his  leave. 

When  Blanche  was  in  some  degree  restored  from  her 
fatigue,  her  health  being  much  impaired,  as  she  showed 
by  her  altered  looks,  her  mother  began,  in  the  first  place, 
to  search  for  her  sister  Miriam ;  with  what  success  may  be 
imagined.  She  could  hear  nothing  of  her,  but  she  was  told 
enough,  and  more  than  enough,  of  her  son  Ralph,  whose 
story  was  narrated  in  the  last  chapter,  and  whom  she  heard 
spoken  of  as  a  wonder  of  deviltry  and  daring,  bidding 
fair  to  rival  Captain  Kidd  in  time,  provided  his  neck 
was  not  broken  too  early  in  life. 

Of  Miriam,  as  we  shall  henceforth  call  her,  she  could 
only  hear  that  she  had  suddenly  disappeared  ;  few  knew 


NEWPORT   OF   OLD.  161 

enough  of  her  to  pursue  any  long  conversation  on  the 
subject ;  in  fact,  she  had  always  led  nearly  as  secluded  a 
life  in  Newport  as  when  Lucy  found  her  in  the  island. 

Baffled  in  her  quest,  Mildred  was  surprised  one  after- 
noon by  a  yisiter  announced  as  Mr.  Castlemain,  who  de- 
sired to  see  her  in  private.  On  his  entrance,  she  found 
him  to  be  a  very  presentable  personage.  He  was  a  law- 
yer of  distinguished  reputation  in  the  Providence  Planta- 
tions, a  man  of  about  fifty  years  of  age,  and  of  dignified, 
noble  appearance.  "  Madam  Estcourt,  I  believe,"  said 
Mr.  Castlemain. 

"The  same,  sir;  be  seated,  and  inform  me,  if  you 
please,  why  I  have  the  honor  of  your  visit." 

After  some  preliminary  conversation  on  general  topics, 
Castlemain  said,  "  I  called  to  see  you,  madam,  in  relation 
to  a  sister  of  yours,  whom  I  believe  you  have  not  seen  for 
some  years.  Miriam  is  her  name,  I  think." 

"Yes,  sir;  Miriam  Estcourt,  a  dearly  beloved  sister, 
whom  it  grieves  me  to  find  that  I  cannot  hear  of.  My 
poor  dear  sister !  " 

"  H-m,"  said  Mr.  Castlemain,  slowly  drawing  a  long 
breath;  "you  are  fondly  attached  to  her,  I  have  no 
doubt.  Pray,  madam,  have  you  ever  heard  of  a  will 
made  by  your  late  lamented  husband  in  favor  of  your 
sister's  son  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  such  a  thing  mentioned,  but  I  do 
not  believe  he  ever  did  such  an  act  of  injustice  to  me ; 
besides,  the  will  never  could  be  found,  and  I  have  been 
in  possession  of  the  estate  in  full  for  many  years." 

"  Mr.  Redtape  drew  that  will,  did  he  not  ?  " 

"  I  have  told  you,  sir,  that  I  do  not  believe  there  ever 
was  a  will ;  nothing  could  be  learned  of  it,  and  we  should 
doubtless  have  long  since  have  forgotten  it  but  for  the 
pertinacity  of  Mr.  Redtape." 


162    BRANDON  ;  OR,  A  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 

"  Very  likely,  madam ;  but  lie  informed  you  that  there 
was  a  will,  if  I  mistake  not." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Mildred,  looking  at  him  with  wonder, 
"  how  did  you  know  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  we  lawyers  frequently  have  correspondence  at 
long  distances ;  I  have  known  Mr.  Redtape  for  many 
years.  Now,  madam,  let  us  suppose  for  a  moment  that 
your  husband,  in  his  last  moments,  did  make  such  a  will, 
can  you  assign  any  reason  for  it,  or  have  you  any  sus- 
picion of  the  cause  which  could  possibly  induce  him  to 
do  so?" 

"  No,  I  have  not,"  said  Mildred,  haughtily. 

"Very  good,  madam.  Now  in  the  second  place,  I 
•\vish  to  know  if  you  are  acquainted  with  the  character  of 
a  trader  in  this  town  named  Elisha  Barlow,  and  his  wife, 
who  was  a  Jane  Hook  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  them  thoroughly ;  Jane  was  my  maid." 

"  Your  opinion  of  them  is  not  very  high,  I  presume." 

"  I  hate  them ! " 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Castlemain,  adding  suddenly,  in 
the  midst  of  her  anger,  "  how  much  do  you  think,  that 
from  first  to  last,  you  have  paid  them?" 

Thrown  off  her  guard  completely  by  Castlemain's 
manner,  "  Full  three  thousand  pounds,"  said  she ;  then  dis- 
covering her  mistake,  she  hurriedly  added,  "  What  did 
you  ask,  money  ?  I  have  paid  them  none,  why  should  I  ? 
I  mistook  your  question ;  paid  them ! — nothing." 

"  My  dear  madam,  your  first  answer  was  the  true  one ; 
do  not  attempt  to  deceive  me." 

"  I  wish  to  deceive  no  one,"  said  Mildred. 

"  Only  perhaps  in  this  instance,"  thought  Castlemain. 
"  Now  I  wish  to  know  distinctly  if  the  sum  you  named 
to  me  is  the  true  one,  or  is  it  exaggerated  ?  " 

"  I  will  answer  you  nothing  more,  sir.     How  dare  you, 


NEWPORT  OP  OLD.  163 

a  perfect  stranger  to  me,  put  such  questions  ?  I  should 
think  you  were  another  Redtape." 

"  We  are  very  good  friends,  and  know  more  of  this 
whole  business  than  you  think  for;  but  intend  you  no 
harm ;  and  you  may  do  yourself  a  service  by  answering 
quietly  the  questions  that  I  put  to  you." 

"  I  will  not  answer  them  until  I  learn  your  authority 
for  questioning  me ;  and  above  all,  the  name  of  the  person 
from  whom  you  received  the  information  you  appear  to 
be  possessed  of." 

"Are  you  very  desirous  of  hearing  the  name  of  that 
personage  ?  it  might  call  up  recollections  not  altogether 
agreeable  to  you." 

"What  care  I  for  recollections;  you  have  no  one 
to  name,  you  are  thinking  to  make  sport  of  me ;  do  your 
worst." 

"  His  name,  then,"  answered  the  imperturbable  lawyer, 
"since  you  are  anxious  to  hear  it,  is  Brooke,  of  his  Majesty's 
naval  service ;  Captain  Greville  Brooke,  and  at  the  time 
he  gave  me  this  information,  he  put  into  my  hand  a 
packet  of  letters,  most  of  them  very  brief  and  very 
pointed.  Here  they  are,"  he  added,  drawing  them  from 
his  pocket,  and  holding  them  towards  Mildred ;  "  do  you 
recognize  the  hand- writing  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  God ! "  gasped  Mildred,  as  she  heard  that 
name  pronounced,  and  saw  her  own  writing  on  the  fatal 
notes  she  had  sent  to  Brooke,  "  ask  what  you  want  of  me ; 
be  quick,  and  spare  me." 

"You  deserve  pity,  indeed,"  retorted  Castlemain, 
"  for  your  kindness  to  your  sister.  She  is,  however,  I 
believe,  far  happier  this  day,  with  all  her  misfortunes,  than 
you  are.  Do  not  think  that  I  am  about  to  make  use  of 
these  letters ;  they  have  been  in  my  possession  for  many 
years,  and  no  one  except  Captain  Brooke  knows  of  their 


164         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A    HUNDRED    YEARS   AGO. 

existence,  not  even  my  friend  Redtape.  You,  I  think, 
have  been  justly  punished,  not  only  in  the  loss  of  money, 
but  the  agonies  of  remorse,  for  which  there  is  no  balm. 
Now  listen  to  me  attentively,  for  the  punishment  towards 
you  is  not  intended,  but  is  for  Barlow,  whom  I  consider 
even  more  guilty.  Do  you  know  of  the  actual  existence 
of  that  will,  and  where  it  is  ?" 

"  I  do  not  believe  in  the  will  at  all,"  said  Mildred  with 
dogged  obstinacy,  now  recovering  herself. 

"  You  must,  madam,"  said  Castlemain,  "  or  you  would 
not  have  paid  out  full  three  thousand  pounds  hush 
money." 

"  And  if  there  is  such  a  one,  heavens,  only  think  of  it, 
the  whole  property  would  pass  out  of  my  hands!  " 

"  Assuredly !  but  how  many  years  have  you  helped  to 
keep  your  innocent  sister  and  her  son  from  the  enjoyment 
of  their  rights.  At  this  instant  you  might  be  living 
together  with  far  more  happiness  to  you  than  all  your 
gold  has  ever  bought  for  you.  I  know  your  sister 
Miriam  well,  and  had  she  at  the  time  of  your  husband's 
death  even  known  of  your  guilt  as  thoroughly  as  she 
does  now,  she  would  have  been  too  generous  to  have  cast 
you  off  penniless.  It  was  a  devilish,  murderous  business 
throwing  your  own  guilt  on  her  in  the  way  you  did  ;  it 
helped  to  unsettle  her  reason  for  a  time ;  she  lost  control 
over  her  son,  who,  but  for  your  unparalleled  baseness, 
might  at  this  instant  be  her  support  and  stay,  instead  of 
wandering,  as  he  does,  with  a  price  set  upon  him,  as  :i 
pirate  and  a  smuggler.  Oh,  woman,  what  an  awful  posi- 
tion is  thine ;  think  upon  it !  " 

'•  But,  indeed,"  said  Mildred  frantically,  "  I  never  saw 
that  will ;  if  it  was  made,  God  knows  I  am  innocent  of 
having  secreted  it." 

"  And  I  believe  you  are,"  said  Mr.  Castlemain,  "  and 


NEWPORT   OP   OLD.  165 

am  happy  to  say  thus  much  for  you ;  all  might  at  this  day 
have  been  well  enough,  if,  at  the  first  attempt  at  extortion 
on  the  part  of  Barlow,  you  had  refused  and  exposed  him ; 
even  if  the  will  had  been  found,  it  was  as  much  as  his 
neck  was  worth  to  have  had  it  hi  his  possession.  You 
would  have  found  Mr.  Redtape  a  kind  listener,  and  by  no 
means  a  harsh  man.  Have  you  any  of  Barlow's  or  Jane 
Hook's  letters  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Mildred,  humbled,  "  I  burnt  them  all  for 
fear  of  discovery." 

"  That  is  a  pity,  they  would  be  strong  evidence  against 
them." 

"  Where  is  Miriam  ?"  asked  Mildred. 

"  That,  madam,  I  must  now  decline  to  inform  you ;  she 
does  not  wish  to  see  you." 

"  Oh,  what  shall  I  do !  what  will  become  of  me  !  " 

"  Keep  quiet,  my  dear  madam,  keep  quiet,  no  evil  is 
likely  to  befall  you  just  now ;  let  me  entreat  you,  for  you 
now  see  I  have  your  good  at  heart,  to  remain  in  this 
place  for  a  while,  and  do  nothing  but  attend  to  your 
daughter's  health.  The  poor  young  lady,  I  fear,  has 
much  need  of  care,  but  you  know  our  Newport  breezes 
are  famed  for  their  good  effects  on  invalids.  You  did 
not  come  here  exclusively  on  her  behalf,  as  I  well  know 
from  Mr.  Redtape,  but  now  redeem  the  purpose  of  your 
visit  by  devotion  to  her.  My  daughter,  Emily,  will  take 
great  pleasure  in  calling  upon  Miss  Blanche.  Once  more, 
madam,"  said  the  counsellor,  rising,  "  only  one  word  of 
advice :  Do  not  go  near  that  detestable  Barlow  or  his 
wife ;  you  know  enough  of  them.  You  need  have  no  fear 
of  their  extorting  any  more  money  from  you ;  I  will 
provide  against  that.  I  have  my  eyes  on  Barlow,  and, 
will  or  no  will,  shall  endeavor  to  trip  him  up  before 


166         BRANDON  ;   OR,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

long.     Again  let  me  beg  you,  madam,  not  to   go  near 
him." 

With  this  warning,  Mr.  George  Castlemain,  bidding 
good  day,  sallied  forth,  and,  going  to  his  own  house,  sat 
down  to  write  a  long  letter,  and,  we  hope,  a  very  satis- 
factory one,  to  Ranger  Redtape,  Esq.,  of  Williainsburg, 
Virginia. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

VISITING  A  TIGBE. 

IT  was  a  pleasant  season  in  Newport,  and  Mildred, 
according  to  the  advice  of  Mr.  Castlemain,  remained 
several  weeks  without  attempting  to  see  Jane  or  Elisha. 
Emily  Castlemain  made  the  acquaintance  of  Blanche,  to 
whom,  with  that  rapidity  which  ladies  use  in  such  matters, 
she  became  much  attached,  although  she  disliked  her 
proud,  haughty  mother  as  others  did. 

Poor  Blanche  knew  that  soft  breezes  and  beautiful 
scenery  could  do  little  for  her.  She  enjoyed  the  island, 
and  thought  a  home  there  would  be  far  better  suited  to 
her  than  in  the  richer  south,  but  the  memory  of  one 
passionately  loved  ever  mingled  itself  with  her  visions 
and  hopes.  "  If  he  could  be  with  me,  even  for  the  little 
time  I  have  to  live,  how  much  happier  could  I  die,"  she 
thought,  and  she  no  longer  endeavored  to  cast  his  image 
from  her.  Deep  within  she  felt  the  glow  and  fire  of 
strength  growing  feebler,  while  her  pulse  rapidly  beating, 
like  the  unchecked  spring  of  the  time-piece,  was  the  sure 
indication  that  life  woiild  soon  cease  its  throbbing  and  be 
still  forever.  Yet  she  looked  forward  with  no  dread  and 
no  sorrow  beyond  that  of  leaving  her  mother,  whom  she 
dearly  loved,  and  of  whose  real  character  she  was  quite 
ignorant ;  little  knowing  that  for  her  own  purposes  of 
aggrandisement  that  mother  was  still  scheming  to  make 
use  of  her.  But  now  she  passed  days  of  happiness,  or 
what  she  supposed  happiness,  sent,  as  she  thought,  by 

(107) 


168         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

kind  heaven — a  sort  of  delicious  dreamy  existence,  in  the 
soft,  sunny  autumn  days,  which  she  knew  must  before 
long  change  for  winter's  chill.  On  one  occasion,  after 
visiting  the  shore,  now  so  thronged  with  pleasure  seekers, 
she  composed  and  dedicated  to  her  friend  Miss  Castle- 
main  the  following  copy  of  verses,  on 

"THE  CLIFF  AT  NEWPORT." 
For  long  bright  hours  could  I  sit  and  dream, 
And  gaze  upon  the  ocean  waves,  which  seem 
To  bring  each  day  new  visions  of  delight, 
Each  day  unveil  new  glories  to  the  sight. 

Dashing  and  foaming,  with  their  feathery  spray, 
Onward  in  gladsome  chase  they  speed  their  way, 
Breaking  in  silvery  streams  the  brown  rocks  o'er, 
Or  lulled  to  rest  upon  the  pebbly  shore. 

And  oft  an  instant's  pausing  seems  to  fill 
All  things  with  sacred  silence,  and  to  still 
The  water's  voice;— again  their  solemn  sound, 
Rolls  like  deep  organ  harmony  around. 

And,  Oh !  how  lovely  when  the  parting  day 
Sheds  softest  radiance  ere  it  fades  away ; 
And  the  broad  vault  of  heaven's  reflected  hue 
In  golden  lustre  tinges  Ocean's  blue : 

When  far  amid  the  bright  and  glowing  west, 
The  weary  sun  lies  cradled  on  the  breast 
Of  gorgeous  clouds,— 'neath  canopies  of  light, 
And  dazzling  glory,  vanishes  from  sight. 

Oh,  I  could  gaze  forever,  and  still  learn 
Of  thee,  exhaustless  Ocean !  still  discern 
From  thy  deep  volume,  thy  eternal  roll, 
More  that  must  raise  and  purify  the  soul. 

Still  proudly  roll !  bearing  upon  thy  breast 
Some  to  their  haven,  some  to  endless  rest ; 
And  let  thy  grand,  unwearied  voice  proclaim 
Thy  mighty  Ruler  -evermore  the  same! 


VISITING   A    TIGER.  169 

Iii  spite  of  the  caution  which  Mr.  Castlemain  had  given 
her,  Mildred  finally  could  not  resist  her  desire  of  con- 
fronting Elisha.  She  saw  him  in  Trinity  Church  on  Sun- 
days, his  face  wearing  an  expression  of  sanctimonious 
humility  and  great  appearance  of  devotion.  He  handled 
the  plate  for  collection  with  an  air  implying,  "  I  am 
not  worthy  to  touch  it,"  and  she  observed  him  after- 
wards even  partaking  of  the  holy  communion,  professing 
to  rejoice  that  fie,  at  least,  was  "  not  like  this  publican." 

Curiosity,  rage,  and  hopes  of  vengeance  prompted 
her  to  seek  him,  and  although  the  rascal,  no  doubt  well 
on  his  guard  from  the  warnings  of  Mr.  Castlemain,  had 
uniformly  passed  her  as  if  he  had  never  known  her, 
she  determined  to  visit  him  and  open  the  subject  of 
the  will.  Accordingly,  learning  from  Emily  Castlemain 
that  her  father  had  gone  out  of  town  for  the  day,  she 
dressed  and  repaired  to  Barlow's  shop,  which  the  curious 
in  such  matters  may  see  to  this  day  in  Newport,  on  the 
main  street,  nearly  opposite  to  Peckham  and  Bull's  wharf; 
though,  we  are  happy  to  say,  they  will  not  find  Elisha 
therein. 

The  Paper  Tiger,  at  the  moment  of  Mildred's  entrance, 
was  engaged  in  some  nice  calculations,  a  kind  of  triple 
rule  of  three,  in  which  "  sugar,"  and  "  rum,"  and  "  nig- 
gers," were  the  quantities  involved,  and  the  computation 
was  evidently  pleasing,  from  the  rascally  smile  which 
lighted  his  white  features.  No  sooner,  however,  did 
he  hear  that  commanding  voice  pronounce  his  name,  than 
the  smile  was  gone,  the  "  niggers"  took  to  their  heels, 
and  he  felt  nearly  as  frightened  as  when  Captain  Walrus 
laid  his  huge  fist  alongside  his  nose. 

"  Drat  that  are  woman,"  thought  Elisha?  "  when  I  was 
a  susposin'  now  Mr.  Castlemain  had  made' everything  all 
right ;  but  I  must  try  to  get  her  out ;  let,  me  study  over 
S 


170    BRANDON  ;  OR,  A  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 

it,"  and  Elisha  pretended  to  be  absorbed  with  his  calcula- 
tions, and  not  to  have  heard  her. 

"  Mr.  Barlow,"  bawled  Jimmy  Wall,  a  small  boy, 
"here,  sir,  if  you  please,  a  lady  wishes  to  see  you,"  and 
Elisha  went  forward,  looking  as  innocent  as  a  lamb  led  to 
slaughter. 

"  I  have  come  to  see  you  at  last,  sir,"  said  Mildred, 
with  abrupt  hauteur. 

"  Well,  now,  reelly,  ma'am,  reelly  at  this  ere  instant  I 
cannot  noways  remember  your  name.  I  think  you  must 
have  made  a  mistake ;  its  no  doubt  my  neighbor  Tilley 
you  called  to  see,  we  is  frequently  mistook  for  one 
another  ;  he  lives  jest  acrost  the  way  ;  Jimmy  will  show 
you." 

"  No  he  will  not,"  said  Mildred  ;  "  I  know  nothing  of 
your  neighbor  Tilley,  and  I  came  to  see  you,  Elisha 
Barlow.  My  name  is  Mildred  Estcourt,  and  you  know 
it  well  enough." 

"  There  now,  reelly,  jest  I  come  forward  I  was  a  think- 
in' -if  this  could  be  any  old  friend  of  mine,  but,  not  lookin' 
to  see  you  in  Newport,  or  herin'  of  your  bein'  here,  it 
kind  a  'scaped  my  memory.  Reelly,  now,  I'm  delighted 
to  see  you." 

"  False,  sir,"  said  Mildred,  who  was  disgusted  with 
Elisha's  lying  speech;  "false,  as  you  have  ever  been 
yourself,  sir." 

"  Look  out  for  fun  now,"  said  Charley  Smith  to  Ben 
Franklin  (not  the  philosopher)  ;  "  how  she  does  give  it  to 
the  old  sinner ;  glad  of  it  too,"  and  the  shopboys  giggled 
with  delight. 

"  Reelly,  ma'am,  upon  my  word,"  said  the  Paper  Tiger, 
looking  rather  alarmed,  "  this  kind  of  conduct  is  most 
extra-ordinary,  ma'am  ;  I  makes  no  profession  of  bein'  a 
liar.  4-  member  of  the  church,  ma'am,  and  one  of  the 


VISITING   A   TIGER.  171 

vestry  to  be  talked  to  in  this  sort'er  way  !  I  don't  think, 
if  I  was'nt  honest,  I  should  be  allowed  to  hand  round  the 
collection  plate  on  Sunday.  Did  you  not  see  me,  ma'am, 
engaged  in  that  are  trust  ?" 

"  And  if  you  did  not  steal  the  money  you  received," 
answered  Mildred,  "  you  must  be  strangely  altered.  You 
to  pretend  not  to  know  me  !  " 

"  Indeed,  now,"  said  Elisha,  chuckling,  as  he  thought 
of  what  he  had  gained,  and,  looking  at  her  with  a  villain- 
ous smile,  "  surely  you  is'nt  able  to  say  that  I  have  ever 
had  any  money  of  yourn  ;  but  if  I  have,  and  you'll  only 
mention  what  for,  I'll  get  one  of  our  young  men,  Lycur- 
gus  Hill,  to  make  out  your  account."  Perceiving  that 
he  had  stung  her,  he  called  out,  "  Curgy,"  and  resuming 
his  look  of  injured  innocence,  paused  for  a  reply.  Receiv- 
ing none,  for  Mildred  was  now  so  enraged  that  she  could 
not  speak,  "  Now  I  comes  to  think  on  it,"  he  continued, 
maliciously,  "  only  a  short  time  ago  a  friend  of  yourn,  Cap- 
ting  Banks,  was  it !  let  me  see ;  no,  that  was'nt  the  name ; 
no,  Capting  Brooke,  ah,  that  was  it !  Brooke,  ma'am ;  ah, 
I  see  you  recollects  him  !  was  in,  and  ".  .  .  . 

"  If  you  have  a  room,  sir,"  said  Mildred,  haughtily,  "  to 
which  we  can  retire  from  the  gaze  of  these  striplings,  I 
will  be  obliged  to  you." 

"  Oh,  certing,  certing,"  snarled  Elisha ;  "  should  have 
oifered  it  before,  only  when  one  makes  out  as  how  I  was 
a  liar  and  a  thief,  I  is'nt  so  particular.  As  I  was  a  sayiri', 
Capting  Brooke  called  to  ask  about  you,  and  ".  .  . . 

"  Lead  on,  sir,"  said  Mildred,  in  a  low  voice ;  "  lead  on, 
and  if  you  dare  to  mention  that  man's  name  again,  I  will 
have  you  cudgeled  in  your  own  shop." 

As  the  door  of  the  private  room  was  closed  upon  them, 
and  they  stood  face  to  face  without  disguise,  "  Now," 
said  Elisha,  turning  his  pallid,  villainous  countenance 


172         BRANDON  ;   OR,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

upon  her,  the  foam  almost  flying  from  his  lips,  and  his 

eyes  gleaming  with  fury,  "  now,  damn  you,  you , 

talk  to  me  in  that  are  style  again,  and  I'll  strangle  you." 

"  Cease  to  damn  me,  Elisha  Barlow,  but  reserve  your 
curses  for  yourself;  your  days  are  numbered,  and  I  hope 
to  see  you  end  them  at  the  gibbet.  The  rope  that 
stretches  your  neck  is  already  twisted ;  and  did  you 
dream  of  forever  escaping  my  vengeance  ?  I  have  proof 
enough  against  you,  mark  my  words,  and  Mr.  Castlemain 
shall  avenge  me." 

It  would  have  been  a  singular  sight  to  the  lover  of 
marvellous  changes,  to  have  noted  that  which  came 
over  the  Paper  Tiger,  at  the  sound  of  that  name.  His 
knees  literally  smote  together,  his  lips  quivered,  a  cold 
sweat  broke  out  upon  his  brow,  he  tottered  to  a  seat, 
and  gasped  out,  "Oh,  Lord!  now,  Ma'am  Estcourt, 
mercy !" 

Mildred  looked  at  him  with  the  deadly  eye  of  an  ana- 
conda, before  springing  upon  its  victim.  "  Mercy !  you 
shall  have  it.  I  would  laugh  to  see  you  ground  to  pow- 
der between  mill-stones,  or  slowly  sawn  into  shreds.  I 
would  sit  beside  you  in  your  dungeon,  and  make  you  die 
a  thousand  deaths,  in  the  terrors  I  would  paint  of  that 
hell  into  which  your  coward  soul  will  plunge;  and  I 
would  see  you  robed  in  your  shroud,  and  watch  you 
writhe  in  torture,  as  you  swung  in  air.  "Will  that  do,  for 
mercy's  sake?  You  devil,  you  leech,  who  have  been 
sucking  my  life-blood  for  years,  your  time  is  near  at 
hand." 

"  Yet,"  continued  Mildred,  seeing  the  effect  she  had 
produced  on  him,  to  her  own  astonishment,  "  it  may  be 
well  with  you  even  now.  Answer  me  what  I  ask  you, 
and,  for  once  in  your  life,  speak  truly,  or  you  will  rue 
your  lies." 


VISITING   A   TIGER.  173 

"I  will,"  said  Elisha,  faintly;  "now  ask  what  you 
wants  as  soon  as  possible,  'cause  I  expects  people  begins 
to  wonder  at  my  bein'  out  of  the  shop  so  long." 

"  Let  them  wait ;  what  care  I  for  that  ?  Now,  tell  me, 
sirrah,  when  and  where  you  last  saw  Captain  Brooke." 

"  I  hasn't  seed  him  for  years — not  since  about  the  time 
your  sister,  Miriam,  left  here." 

"I  knew  you  had  not.  Now,  have  you  anything  to 
say  about  Miriam?  Where  is  she  ?" 

"As  sure  as  there's  a  God  in  heaven,  I  doesn't  know. 
I  tried  to  find  out,  not  long  since — the  time  you  wrote 
Janey,  askin' — and  Mr.  Castlemain  found  I  was  a  doin' 
so,  and  said  if  I  dared  make  any  more  search  for  her — 
O  Lord,  he  did  talk  awful!" 

"And  Ralph — where  is  he?  You  have  seen  him  but 
a  short  time  since,  I  know." 

"  Oh  dear,  now,  how  did  you  happen  to  know  so  ? 
Seems  to  me  like  as  if  hell  was  breakin'  up  all  round 
me  !" 

"Of  course  it  is — the  devils  will  soon  be  on  you," 
replied  his  comforter;  "where  is  Ralph ?  I  say." 

"Well,  now,  Ma'am  Estcourt,  I  am  a  goin'  to  tell  you 
somethink,  out  of  the  great  regard  I  used  to  have  for 
you  in  past  times,  afore  these  ere  troubles  of  ourn  come 
on  us.  Ralph,  you  know,  is  jest  tied  right  up  ;  he  is 
at  sea  somewhere — somewhere,  pnrsuin'  his  unlawful 
trade" — and  here  Elisha,  with  hypocrisy  that  had  be- 
come almost  second  nature,  rolled  up  his  eyes  in  horror — 
"  but,  you  see,  the  Government's  on  the  look-out  for  him, 
and  next  time  he  tries  to  land  on  the  coast  it'll  be  right 
down  on  him.  Now,  I'm  anxious  that  Ralph  should  be 
spared,  if  possible,  and  so  is  Mr.  Castlemain;  we  has 
agreed  together  on  that  are  pint.  How  nice  it  might 
have  been  for  Ralph,  if  he'd  only  tuk  my  advice,  and 


174         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

done  jest  right.  Many  a  time  I've  warned  him  of  his 
sinful  course ;  sez  I,  Ralph,  now  .  .  .  .  " 

"  Hush !  you  make  me  sick  with  your  lies.  What  of 
Ralph?" 

"  Well,  now,  the  whole  long  and  short  of  the  matter 
is,  I  spose,  you  want  to  know  concerning  that  are  will, 
and  I  think  I've  hit  on  a  nice  little  plan  I've  been  a 
studyin'  over.  You  know,  susposin'  the  will  was  de- 
stroyed, you'd  feel  all  right,  and  so  would  I.  Ralph,  as 
I  say,  is  out  of  the  question.  Now,  don't  you  think  if  I 
was  to  make  you  sure,  by  actooally  destroyin'  that  are 
parchment  you're  a  lookin'  on,  that  I  oughter  have  some- 
think  for  all  the  trouble  I've  had  about  it  ?  Say  some- 
think  quite  nice  and  handsome,  now,  and  I'll  set  right  to 
work.  Then  you'll  feel  all  comfortable,  as  you  know  I 
could  never  ask  you  for  anythink  more." 

The  audacity  of  this  cool  proposal  was  too  much  for 
Mildred. 

"  Elisha  Barlow,"  said  she,  "  talk  not  to  me  of  Ralph 
being  out  of  the  way ;  he  is  not  dead.  You  know,  vil- 
lain, that  you  trained  him  in  wickedness  from  his  boy- 
hood; that  he  might  become  tainted  with  crime  and 
branded  as  a  felon,  because  he  was  the  heir  named  in 
the  will.  You  judged  that  if  he  was  compromised,  you 
could  more  easily  plunder  me,  and  prevent  him  from 
claiming  his  own.  That  has  been  your  plot ;  was  there 
ever  a  viler  one  ?  " 

"  Well,  reelly,  now  ma'am,  you  has  found  me  out ;  I'm 
sorry,  very  sorry,  but  that  aint  no  matter  now ;  lets  talk 
of  this  ere  other  plan  of  mine." 

The  scamp,  in  greedy  hope  of  more  plunder,  again 
urged  his  proposal.  He  had,  without  thinking  of  it,  or 
intending  to  do  so,  informed  Mildred  of  the  will,  and  of 
his  complicity  with  Ralph,  two  points  which  she  was  glad 


VISITING    A    TIGER.  175 

to  know  of.  She  slowly  drew  her  chair  up  to  Elisha's, 
took  him  by  the  arm,  and  fixing  on  him  the  gaze  of  a 
basilisk,  hissed  out :  "  Give  me  that  will,  or  I  will  have 
you  murdered.  Give  it  to  me;  not  a  penny  more  of 
mine  shall  ever  cross  your  palms,  but  instead,  if  you  do 
not  pay  me  a  round  sum  back,  you  shall  swing  as  sure  as 
there  is  a  gallows  in  the  land.  Do  you  mind  me  ?"  she 
asked,  shaking  him  fiercely. 

"  Ah,  what  have  I  done !  When  I  told  you  that  are, 
I  thought  we  was  agoin  to  be  friends,"  said  Elisha,  tremb- 
ling with  fear. 

Mildred,  not  condescending  to  answer  this ;  looked  at 
him  with  eyes,  in  which,  for  friendship,  one  might  read 
daggers  or  poison ;  then  repeated,  "  Give  me  that  will, 
and  pay  what  I  demand  of  you,  or  this  day  I  denounce 
you  to  Mr.  Castlemain." 

"  Don't,  ah  don't ! "  whined  the  Paper  Tiger,  appearing 
now  to  be  bereft  of  teeth  and  talons. 

"  I  will,  by  heaven,  unless  you  take  heed ;  will  you 
obey  me?" 

"  Yes,  I  will." 

"  At  once  ?  " 

"  Yes,  as  soon,  that  is,  as  I  can  get  that  are  will ;  it's  not 
in  Newport." 

"  Mind  you  do  not  lie  any  more  to  me ;  how  long  will 
it  take  you  to  get  it  ?  " 

"  A  day  or  two,  if  you  will  only  keep  quiet ;  but  not 
to  make  you  feel  oneasy,  I  will  pay  you  somethink  now. 
We  can  settle  that  are  up  at  onc't.  Let  me  see,  I  'spose 
fifty  pounds  would  make  that  all  right !  " 

"  Fifty  pounds,  you  miser !  fifty  pounds  to  me !  pay  me 
down  five  hundred  pounds,  and  that  for  the  first  instal- 
ment of  what  you  shall  have  to  disburse,  or  your  neck  is 
not  worth  a  week's  purchase.  Five  hundred  pounds ;  do 


176         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

you  suppose  I  do  not  know  thoroughly,  as  well  as  Mr. 
Castlemain,  of  your  riches,  through  your  connection  with 
smugglers  and  ruffians ;  my  poor  nephew  Ralph,  among 
the  number,  whom  you  have  made  what  he  is ! " 

This  random  shaft  of  Mildred's  winged  home;  the 
wretched  Elisha  imagining  his  plots  all  discovered,  was 
ready  to  promise  anything ;  and  after  vainly  trying  to 
buy  Mildred  off  with  one,  two,  three,  four,  or  even  four 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  had  the  inexpressible  misery 
of  paying  the  inexorable  woman  five  hundred  to  hold  hoi- 
peace,  besides  agreeing  to  put  the  will  into  her  hands  in 
a  day  or  two. 

Well  pleased  was  Mildred  with  the  result  of  her  visit, 
which  opened  so  inauspiciously ;  while  Elisha  felt  degraded 
in  his  own  eyes,  and  completely  disgusted  at  the  manner 
in  which  he  had  been  used  by  the  imperious  Lady 
Mildred. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

TRAITORS   IN  THE   CAMP. 

THE  plotters  little  imagined  that  their  interview  h;ul 
been  known  to  a  third  party,  who,  unseen  and  unheard, 
had  listened  to  every  word  between  them.  Mildred 
perhaps  would  not  have  cared  much,  but  we  "  reelly " 
tremble  to  think  what  Elisha's  feelings  would  have  been. 
It  so  happened  that  Mr.  Castlemain,  not  having  any  very 
firm  faith  in  Mildred's  promises,  had  ordered  her  to  be 
watched ;  and  as  ministers  of  police  frequently  select 
agents  with  whom  they  would  not  associate,  yet  employ 
for  their  skill,  our  old  acquaintance,  Jane  Hook,  had  been 
chosen  for  the  service  of  spy. 

She  passed  for  Mrs.  Barlow,  but  she  was  not,  Elisha 
having  falsified  his  promises  to  her,  as  he  had  to  every 
body  else,  and  year  after  year,  put  off  making  his  treach- 
ery to  her  "  all  right "  by  marriage.  The  woman,  whose 
character  we  know  thoroughly,  determined  at  length  to 
be  revenged,  and  as  soon  as  Mildred  made  her  appearance 
in  Newport,  knowing  that  her  visit  must  be  in  connection 
with  Elisha,  she  went  to  Mr.  Castlemain  and  unfolded  a 
pretty  tale  of  deception  towards  herself,  as  well  as  a  long 
catalogue  of  rogueries,  in  which  smuggling  was  not  the 
worst.  So  much  did  she  tell,  and  so  true  her  words 
proved,  that  Castlemain,  finding  her  love  for  the  wretch 
turned  into  hatred,  employed  her  to  watch  him  as  well  as 
Mildred.  When  they  came  into  that  back-room,  she 
being  in  an  apartment  overhead,  heard  their  voices,  and 
stealing  down  a  narrow,  dark  stairway,  fastened  at  its 
8*  (ITT) 


178         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

foot  the  door  which  opened  into  the  apartment,  then  ap- 
plying her  eye  to  the  key-hole,  after  the  most  approved 
chamber-maid-style,  she  saw  and  heard  every  thing  with 
secure  delight.  Nor  was  it  long  ere  Castlemain  was  in- 
formed of  this ;  he  saw  Mildred  at  once,  and  hinted  that 
the  air  of  Newport  was  only  suited  to  her  on  account  of 
her  daughter ;  then  perceiving  that  she  did  not  under- 
stand his  meaning,  he  astounded  her  by  a  detail  of  much 
of  her  own  conversation  with  Barlow,  and  informed  her, 
that  if  she  attempted  to  see  him  again,  she  would  be  the 
sufferer. 

He  sarcastically  asked  her  to  be  content  with  five  hun- 
dred pounds,  and  moreover  frightened  her  well  by  telling 
her  not  to  open  letters  again  unless  they  were  addressed 
to  herself.  She  could  not  imagine  how  he  had  derived 
this  intelligence,  never  thinking  it  came  from  Miriam,  but 
supposing  that  the  argus-eyed  Redtape,  who  appeared  to 
be  capable  of  seeing  through  stone  walls,  had  found  out 
that  she  opened  Charles  Brandon's  letters. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Blanche  had  determined 
to  fathom  the  mystery  of  the  letters  which  had  caused 
her  mother  such  distress,  but  the  state  of  her  health  had 
not  permitted  her  to  do  so  ;  and  she  had  been  quieted  by 
Mildred,  who  told  her  joyfully  that  she  had  recovered  a 
handsome  sum  of  money  from  one  who  had  defrauded 
her.  That  had  been  the  only  cause  of  her  distress,  and 
Blanche  feeling  unable  to  pursue  the  matter,  was  obliged 
to  be  content  with  this  information. 

Mildred  could  secure  no  further  chance  of  seeing  Elisha, 
except  at  his  devotions  in  church,  and  at  length  took  her 
departure,  with  Blanche,  for  Virginia,  baffled  in  regard 
to  the  will,  when  it  was  almost  in  her  grasp.  She  had 
been  assured  by  Castlemain  that  Barlow  could  give  her 
no  more  trouble.  Ralt>h  was  outlawed;  but  what  it  the 


TRAITORS  IN   THE   CAMP.  179 

•will  should  fall  into  Castlemain's  hands,  and  he  determine 
that  Miriam  should  be  reinstated.  She  shuddered  at  the 
prospect  before  her ;  she  must  marry  Blanche  to  Charles 
Brandon  now,  or  she  should  go  mad  with  misfortune  and 
despair. 

We  need  not  detail  the  interviews  which  Mr.  Castle- 
main  had  with  Elisha ;  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that  they  were 
of  such  nature  as  to  make  the  trader  feel  very  uncomfort- 
able and  uncertain  as  to  his  own  position. 

He  consequently  tried  to  be  more  than  ever  devotional 
before  men,  while  he  was  revolving  various  plans  to  save 
himself,  by  delivering  up  some  of  his  freebooting  friends 
to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  government.  This  being 
accomplished,  and  his  own  safety  insured,  he  was  resolved 
to  give  up  such  a  dangerous  branch  of  business,  and  live 
an  altogether  different  life. 

A  short  time  after  Mildred  had  left  Newport,  in  the 
dawn  of  a  January  morning,  a  smaU.  vessel  might  have 
been  descried  coming  in  from  sea,  and  before  the  sun  arose, 
she  had  entered  the  west  passage  of  Narraganset  Bay, 
and  as  if  seeking  to  avoid  observation,  anchored  in  a 
sheltered  nook  between  Connanicut  and  Dutch  Islands, 
•  quite  out  of  the*  range  of  vision.  Her  sails  were  not 
furled,  but  clewed  up,  and  she  swung  at  her  moorings  as 
if  ready  at  an  instant's  warning  to  trip  her  anchor  and 
scud  before  the  breeze.  A  sharp  watch  was  set,  and  all 
that  day  some  one  was  pacing  her  decks,  ever  sweeping 
the  horizon  with  his  glass,  but  no  sail  hove  in  sight. 

The  vessel  was  small,  of  not  more  than  two  hundred 
and  fifty  tons  burthen,  brig  rigged,  heavily  sparred,  and 
spreading  an  immense  area  of  canvas  in  proportion  to 
her  size;  her  model  was  built  for  speed  as  well  as 
strength,  and  her  deck  swarming  with  desperate-looking 
characters,  had  also  a  number  of  heavy  guns  which  now. 


180         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

however,  were  drawn  in  board,  and  the  ports  closed ;  so 
that  to  a  stranger's  eye,  at  a  little  distance,  she  would 
appear  only  a  peaceful  trader. 

But  this  was  the  famous  smuggler,  which  had  been  a 
slaver  too,  the  "  Walk  to  Windward,"  as  she  was  named, 
and  which  had  so  long  baffled  the  efforts  of  his  Majesty's 
ships  to  take  her,  had  beaten  off  more  than  one  of  supe- 
rior force,  and  was  almost  unmatched  in  swiftness  by  any 
craft  that  sailed. 

Ralph  Estcourt  (he  was  known  on  board  of  ship  by 
another  name)  had  now  the  command  of  her ;  a  rapid 
career  of  vice  and  crime  had  placed  him  in  his  position  of 
captain  at  the  age  of  twenty-six,  and  well  was  he  formed 
for  such  a  service.  The  ruffian  who  had  commanded  the 
vessel  before  him,  was  a  disciple  of  the  terrific  Black- 
beard  ;  and  when  that  monster's  haunt  on  the  Carolina 
coast  was  broken  up  in  1718,  had  sailed  several  vessels, 
not  so  openly  piratical  in  their  character  as  were  his  mas- 
ter's. Through  the  instrumentality  of  Elisha  Barlow, 
Ralph  had  been  introduced  to  the  smuggler,  who  took 
a  great  liking  to  him.  In  one  of  their  voyages,  this  cap- 
tain ended  a  long  life  of  crime  in  a  scuffle  with  a  desper- 
ate negro  on  the  coast  of  Guinea ;  and  Estcourt,  then 
but  about  twenty  years  of  age,  was  at  once  elected  to  the 
command  of  the  vessel.  He  was  now  seated  in  the 
cabin,  gazing  listlessly  out  of  one  of  the  stern  ports  at 
the  distant  ocean,  and  he  occasionally  hailed  the  watch 
on  deck  to  learn  whether  he  saw  anything  in  the  offing. 
He  was  tall  and  muscular,  with  atlantean  shoulders  and 
chest,  indicating  tremendous  strength ;  a  bronzed,  ruddy 
face,  strikingly  handsome,  with  large,  intensely  blue,  cold 
eyes  expressed  mind  in  no  common  degree,  while  firm-set 
lips,  as  well  as  the  massive  jaw  which  showed  through  his 
heavy  beard,  spoke  of  dauntless  courage  and  daring. 


TRAITORS   IN   THE   CAMP.  181 

"We  must  wait  till  night-fall,"  Ralph  said  to  the  watch, 
who  was  pacing  the  deck  above.  "Aye,"  answered  the 
other,  "  but  there  is  a  moon  to-night." 

"  A  young  one,  though ;  it  will  soon  be  down ;  a  fog 
would  suit  us  better,  for  we  could  sweep  her  in,  if  the 
wind  failed,  and  I  know,  by  soundings,  every  inch  of  the 
channel." 

"  There  will  be  no  difficulty  about  that,  captain,"  said 
Estcourt's  "first  lieutenant"  (as  he  styled  himself),  who 
humbly  imitated  Ralph,  and  was  now  seated  by  him  in 
the  cabin.  "  No  difficulty  about  running  in  easy  enough, 
but  the  trouble  will  be  in  getting  that  rascal  Barlow  to 
come  off.  He  must  be  a  damned  scoundrel  to  have 
served  you  so  about  that  property  of  yours,  you  told  me 
of  the  other  day ;  how  shall  we  manage  to  bring  him  off 
without  creating  a  brawl  ?  " 

"  Leave  that  to  me,  Dick  Boltrope,"  returned  Ralph. 
"  Yes,  evil  blast  him,  to  have  kept  me  from  wealth  and 
honor,  as  he  has,  and  made  me  what  I  am,  with  a  price 
set  on  me,  and  as  much  as  my  life  is  worth  to  run  in  shore 
anywhere ! " 

"  You  are  sure,  these  men,  captain,  have  not  trumped 
up  this  story  to  try  to  noose  you  ?  ", 

"  No,  indeed ;  Admiral  Brooke  and  Castlemain  could 
have  had  no  interest  in  hatching  such  a  lie.  They  know 
I  am  too  old  a  bird  to  be  caught  with  chaff;  yet,  ever 
since  that  time,  you  remember  it,  when  we  were  landing 
goods  up  the  coast,  and  I  cut  Brooke  down  with  my 
hanger,  leaving  him  for  dead,  as  I  thought — though  I  did 
not  then  know  who  he  was — those  two  men  have  fol- 
lowed me  up  with  this  same  story,  communicated  to  me 
by  letters,  which  they  took  care  should  reach  me  in 
a  roundabout  way.  At  first,  I  thought  it  as  you  have, 
only  meant  to  entrap  me ;  but  now  I  know  that  their  tale 


182        BRANDON  ;    OR,  A  HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

is  true,  and  that  cursed  Elisha  is  at  the  bottom  of  the 
whole  trouble.  If  it  was  only  for  my  own  part,  I'd  give 
myself  up  quick  enough,  for  I  am  sick  of  this  infernal 
life,  but  until  I  know  the  government  will  pardon  the 
whole  ship's  crew  of  us,  I  hang  out,  by  God !  But  if 
I  can  only  entice  Barlow  to  the  pier,  to-night,  we  have 
him ;  I'll  get  the  truth  out  of  him  and  something  more, 
or  good-bye  to  Newport,  forever,  honest  Elisha ! " 

As  the  twilight  fell  at  length,  the  anchor  was  raised  ; 
and  the  better  to  avoid  suspicion,  the  brig  making  sail, 
shot  along  the  shores  of  the  Connanicut,  until  rounding 
its  northern  point,  she  passed  between  it  and  Pru- 
dence Island,  and  then  dropped  down  to  Newport, 
instead  of  entering  the  harbor  by  doubling  Beaver-t;til,  as 
if  coming  in  from  sea.  The  ports  were  still  kept  down, 
but  the  guns  were  shotted,  and  every  thing  made  ready 
for  instant  action,  if  necessary,  and  just  as  the  moon — 
about  nine  o'clock  at  night — was  sinking  to  the  horizon, 
the  "Walk  to  Windward,"  anchored  off  the  town.  A 
four  oared  boat,  with  two  men  in  the  stern  sheets,  at  once 
pulled  from  her  side  and  made  for  one  of  the  most  unfre- 
quented wharfs.  Leaving  Dick  Boltrope  to  mind  the 
boat,  Ralph,  well-armed,  stepped  ashore,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments had  reached  the  shop  of  Elisha  Barlow.  The 
moon  had  gone  down,  the  streets  were  deserted,  and 
dark  as  Newport  streets  only  could  be  before  the  gas 
works  were  established ;  but,  familiar  with  the  place,  and 
glad  of  the  gloom,  Ralph  at  the  shop  front  gave  a  signal 
which  he  had  often  used  before,  and  in  a  few  moments 
the  white  face  of  Barlow  peered  out  of  the  door,  he  hold- 
ing a  candle  in  one  hand.  In  an  instant,  Ralph  was  inside 
of  the  shop,  and  had  fastened  the  door  before  Elisha  had 
recovered  from  his  surprise. 

"  Why,  reelly,  now  Ralph,  and  is  that  you  ?     I  was 


TRAITORS   IN   THE   CAMP.  183 

jest  a  wondering  why  I  had'nt  seen  you  this  ere  long 
time." 

"  Lead  on,"  said  Ralph,  "  and  do  not  stand  chattering 
here  ;  have  you  not  learnt  manners  yet  ?  " 

"He,  he,  he!"  laughed  Elisha,  "Well,  Ralph,  you  is 
always  so  amusing.  Come  in  and  sit  down  comfortable. 
There's  a  fire  in  the  back  room,  and  Mrs.  Barlow  will  be 
glad  to  see  you,"  so  saying  Elisha  led  the  way,  and  seat- 
ing Ralph,  repeated,  "  I'll  call  Mrs.  Barlow  down,  she'll 
be  glad  to  meet  you." 

"  Stop ;  we  don't  want  any  Mrs.  Barlow's  here,  and 
I've  not  long  to  stay.  What  do  you  stand  there  for,  you 
fool,  gaping  at  me  in  that  way  ?  I  want  something  to 
drink." 

"  Oh,  indeed,  something  to  drink !  I  foi-got,  let  me 
see,  will  you  have  some  nice  Canary  wine  ?  " 

"  No,  you  mean  wretch,  get  me  some  strong  liquor ; 
some  aqua  vitae,  and  hurry  too."  Barlow  went  into  the 
shop,  and  staying,  as  the  impatient  smuggler  thought,  too 
long,  was  rated  by  him  soundly  on  his  return  ;  and  before 
Ralph  would  taste  the  brandy,  he  insisted  that  Elisha 
should  partake  of  it,  which  he  was  forced  to,  with  awful 
grimaces. 

"  You  stayed  so  damned  long,  that  I  thought  you  were 
trying  to  poison  the  stuff  with  some  of  your  cursed 
drugs ;  you  would  rather  do  it,  than  not,"  said  Ralph ; 
then  swallowing  the  fiery  liquor  at  a  draught,  added, 
"  rich  old  stuff,  this,  and  comfortable,  too,  this  cold  night. 
I  know  it  well ;  it  is  some  I  brought  in  these  three  years 
past.  As  you  paid  no  duties  on  it,  you  can  save  your 
conscience,  I  suppose,  in  not  cheating  your  customers 
who  buy  it,  more  than  two  hundred  per  cent,  eh  ?" 

"  Reelly,"  said  Elisha,  trying  to  smile,  and  looking  su- 
premely miserable  in  the  attempt,  "  you  is  so  funny." 


184         BRANDON  ;    OB,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

"Pshaw!"  answered  Ralph,  "now  for  the  business  I 
have  in  hand.  Here,"  said  he,  producing  a  small  bundle, 
which,  being  opened,  displayed  some  of  the  richest  silks 
and  laces  that  ever  glistened  before  Elisha's  eyes,  "  here 
is  only  a  sample,  Barlow,  of  what  I  have  on  board ;  I 
must  be  off,  you  know,  by  dawn  of  day ;  and  as  you  want 
some  of  these  things — in  short,  must  have  them — the  best 
way  for  you  to  see  them  undisturbed,  is,  to  come  to  my 
vessel,  examine  them  at  your  leisure,  and  select  what  you 
want.  We  can  bundle  them  up  for  you,  and  set  you 
ashore  without  trouble ;  no  one  will  be  the  wiser  for  it ; 
you  can  make  your  profit  on  them  to  any  tune  you  please, 
and  I  shall  be  out  of  sight,  long  before  the  sunrise. 
Come !" 

The  proposition  struck  Elisha  with  anything  but  favor; 
he  had  tricked  Ralph  too  often  to  feel  safe  in  his  presence ; 
and  the  bare  mention  of  going  off  to  his  vessel,  among  a 
crew  of  ruffians,  who  would  put  him  in  the  rigging,  and 
flog  him,  or  run  him  up  to  the  yardarm,  in  mere  sport ; 
frightened  him  dreadfully.  To  oppose  Ralph  openly, 
would,  he  knew,  end  by  being  carried  off  by  main  force  ; 
so  deception,  as  usual,  came  to  his  aid,  and  turning  to  the 
smuggler,  he  said,  "well,  Ralph,  I've  been  a  studyin' 
over  it,  and  spose  I  must  go.  But  in  the  fust  place,  I'd 
jest  like  to  look  out  in  the  old  buildin'  in  the  back  yard, 
where  I  have  my  old  account  books,  and  see  what  them 
are  goods  I  got  of  you  last,  was  invoiced  at,  so  as  to  be 
better  able  to  judge  of  what  I  want  now.  Jest  you  wait 
here  a  few  minutes,"  said  Elisha,  lighting  a  lantern,  "  and 
I'll  be  right  back.  Let  me  give  you  some  more  aqua 
vitae."  Ralph  made  no  objections;  Elisha  replenished 
his  glass,  and  went  out  of  the  door  leading  into  the  yard. 
He  had  no  sooner  reached  it,  however,  than  instead  of 
going  to  the  old  building,  he  q'uickly  and  noiselessly 


TRAWORS   IN  THE    CAMP.  185 

threw  back  a  gate  that  opened  on  an  alley,  running  by 
the  side  of  his  shop  to  the  street ;  hurried  through  it, 
crossed  the  main  avenue,  and  in  a  moment  or  two,  had 
informed  four  or  five  of  his  opposite  neighbors,  of  the 
prize  in  his  house  ;  told  them  to  keep  guard  at  the  head 
of  the  wharf,  and  in  a  few  moments  he  would  issue  forth 
with  Ralph,  when  he  could  be  easily  surrounded,  and  se- 
cured. How  Elisha  chuckled,  as  he  ran  back;  all  his  diffi- 
culties, present  or  anticipated,  vanished ;  he  would  obtain 
the  reward  oifered  for  the  smuggler ;  and  as  for  Castle- 
main,  he  might  go  to  the  devil  his  own  way  as  quick  as 
he  chose  to. 

He  reentered,  and  closed  the  door,  locking  it  on  the 
inside.  Ralph  was  seated,  coolly  drinking  his  brandy, 
and  Elisha  little  knew,  that  during  his  absence,  another 
scene  had  transpired.  No  sooner  had  he,  going  out, 
closed  the  back  door,  than  the  one  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
opened,  and  to  Ralph's  amazement,  Jane  Barlow  entered. 

"  Mrs.  Barlow !"  said  he,  starting  back. 

"  Hush !  do  not  speak  so  loud,  I  am  not  Mrs.  Barlow, 
and  that  wretch  has  gone  to  betray  you."  Then,  in  a 
few  seconds,  and  in  those  concentrated  words  which  hate 
only  can  supply,  she  told  Ralph  the  story  of  her  own 
wrongs,  of  his,  of  the  will,  and  of  his  danger  where  he  was. 

"  Defend  yourself  at  all  hazards,  and  you  have  a  good 
chance  to  escape." 

"  Shall  I  take  your  husband  on  board  my  vessel,  if  I 
can  ?'» 

"  Don't  call  the  villain  my  husband.  Yes,  take  him, 
throttle  him,  kill  him ;  but  don't  let  him  return  to  me. 
Be  on  your  guard,  here  he  comes;"  and  as  Elisha's  foot- 
step was  heard  at  the  back  door,  she  closed  and  fastened 
her  own  as  before. 

Ralph  was  not  alarmed,  and  the  sense  of  danger  only 


186         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED*YEARS   AGO. 

heightened  his  courage.  "  I'm  a  match  for  a  dozen  of 
them,"  he  muttered;  "besides  those  five  bull-dogs  of  mine 
in  the  boat." 

"  Well,  now,"  said  Elisha,  coming  in  in  high  spirits, 
"  you  does'nt  know  how  glad  I  was  Ralph,  to  find  it  alt 
i  ight,  all  right.  I  can  take  some  of  them  are  goods,  and 
we'll  be  off  at  wunst." 

"  Wait  a  moment ;  fill  my  glass  again." 

"  That  I  will,"  replied  Elisha ;  "  and  as  its  cold  as  you 
say,  I'll  try  a  little  myself.  Now  then." 

"  Look  you,  Barlow,  I  had  nearly  forgotten  it,  did  you 
not,  the  last  time  I  was  ashore,  promise  me  on  my  next 
landing,  to  give  me  twenty  pounds  for  distribution  among 
my  crew  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  reelly,  we  has'nt  got  time  to  attend  to  it 
now,  I'll  do  it  next  time." 

"  No,  you  wont,"  said  Ralph,  sternly ;  "  now  or  never. 
And  as  I  think  of  it,  I  want  twenty  more  on  top  of  it  for 
myself,  and  ten  more  beyond  that  for  Dick  Boltropc,  my 
first  lieutenant." 

"  Oh,  heavens !  Ralph,  don't  now !" 

"  I  will,  you  infernal  villain ;  do  you  think  you  are  to 
grow  rich  all  your  life,  with  no  fear  of  the  gallows,  and 
not  lend  a  helping  hand  to  us,  who  do  all  your  work,  and 
brave  all  the  peril !  Fifty  pounds  out  of  that  strong-box, 
quick,  or  I'll  make  you." 

The  terrified  Elisha  opened  his  money  chest,  and 
handed  Ralph  the  sum  he  demanded;  thinking,  doubtless, 
he  should  get  it  back  in  a  few  minutes ;  and  then,  open- 
ing the  street  door,  they  emerged  from  the  shop.  As 
they  did  so,  Ralph  drew  a  cutlass. 

"  What  do  you  do  that  for,"  asked  Elisha. 

"To  cut  you  in  two,  if  you  play  me  false." 

They  crossed  the  street,  and  at  the  instant  of  reaching 


TRAITORS   IN   THE   CAMP.  187 

the  head  of  the  wharf,  Elisha  looked  in  vain  for  his  friends ; 
at  this  instant,  Ralph,  seizing  him  with  an  iron  grip,  said, 
"  your  time  has  come,  villain ;"  and  blew  at  that  moment 
a  shrill  whistle.  It  was  answered  at  once  from  the  boat, 
and  Elisha  shrieked  with  terror.  His  friends,  tired  of 
waiting,  and  thinking  some  ill  might  have  befallen  him, 
had  gone  up  the  alley,  intending  to  burst  into  the  back 
door,  but  found  it  fastened,  just  as  they  heard  the  whistle, 
and  Elisha's  yell  of  agony. 

They  hurried  back ;  Ralph  heard  the  sound  of  coming 
feet,  and  pressing  on,  he  stumbled  over  some  object  on 
the  wharf,  letting  go  his  hold  of  Barlow,  who  in  an  instant 
ran,  and  was  met  by  his  friends. 

There  was  no  time  for  delay,  or  struggle  in  the  dark- 
ness. Ralph  rose  to  his  feet,  and  flung  himself  into  the 
boat.  Two  or  three  shots  from  the  party  on  the  wharf 
fell  harmless  in  the  water ;  and  were  returned  without 
effect  by  the  smugglers,  who  pulled  with  main  strength 
for  their  bark.  They  soon  reached  her,  sail  was  made 
instantly,  and  when  the  morning  shone,  the  "  Walk  to 
Windward"  danced  on  the  waters  of  ocean;  and  Rhode 
Island  lay  like  a  faint  cloud  on  the  far  horizon. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

LUCY'S   NEW   HOME. 

A  SPACE  of  three  years  has  been  occupied  by  the 
scenes  of  this  narrative,  and  the  incidents  about  to  be  re- 
lated occur  in  the  autumn  of  1758.  At  this  period,  the 
Boston  packet  brought  to  the  island  one  morning  a  letter, 
sealed  with  black,  for  Mr.  Tyrrell,  which  informed  him, 
by  Randolph  Brandon,  that  his  cousin  Edward  was  dead. 
He  had  bequeathed  to  him  a  house  which  he  had  owned 
in  Cambridge,  besides  a  small  sum  of  money,  which 
would  about  suffice  to  maintain  him  and  his  family  com- 
fortably, in  the  frugal  manner  of  their  life.  The  bulk  of 
the  property  of  the  deceased  was  left  to  his  widow,  and 
from  her  would  pass  to  Matilda  Brandon,  who  would  thus 
become,  in  her  own  right,  as  rich  as  her  husband. 

Mr.  Tyrrell  grieved  for  the  loss  of  his  cousin,  and  he  felt 
sorrow  that  his  last  days  should  have  passed  without  their 
meeting;  for  since  Lucy's  unfortunate  love  affair  they  had 
had  no  intercourse,  and  Mr.  Tyrrell  had  blamed  his 
cousin  Edward  strongly  for  the  part  he  had  taken  in  it. 
But  now  regretting,  when  too  late,  that  hasty  judgment, 
he  was  the  more  penetrated  by  such  kindness,  inasmuch 
as  Lucy  and  her  mother  too  were  also  left  small  sums  of 
money  and  memorials  of  friendship. 

It  was  not  until  Mr.  Tyrrell's  wife,  of  more  practical 
turn  than  himself,  spoke,  after  some  days,  of  the 
value  of  the  bequests,  that  his  thoughts  ceased  to  dwell 
solely  upon  the  memory  and  generosity  of  his  departed 
friend. 

(188) 


LUCY'S  NEW  HOME.  189 

It  appeared  as  if  Providence  had  finally  granted  to  them 
an  opportunity  of  leaving  the  island ;  a  design  which, 
frequently  in  former  days,  had  been  the  subject  of  their 
thoughts  and  conversation,  though,  indeed,  since  Lucy's 
trouble,  it  had  been  seldom  referred  to.  Suffice  it  to  say, 
that  after  some  talk  with  his  wife,  Mr.  Tyrrell  determined 
to  avail  himself  of  his  cousin's  bequest,  and  go  to  reside 
in  Cambridge,  where  he  judged  the  literary  associations 
and  society  of  the  place  would  solace  the  latter  portion 
of  his  life,  and  prove,  too,  a  happier  home  for  his 
daughter. 

Nor  had  he,  as  he  imagined,  anything  to  dread  from  a 
renewal  of  the  engagement.  He  had  forbidden  it,  as 
Mr.  Brandon  had,  in  the  most  positive  terms  ;  the  corres- 
pondence had  long  ceased,  and  he  doubted  not  that 
Charles,  with  the  fickleness  of  youth,  had  already  trans- 
ferred his  affections  to  the  wealthy  Blanche  Estcourt. 

But  poor  Lucy  heard  the  news  with  unmitigated  sor- 
row. She  wept  with  bitter  anguish  for  the  loss  of  her 
dear,  kind  uncle,  and  called  up  again  all  the  happy  hours 
she  had  spent  under  his  hospitable  roof,  when  he  had  been 
so  delighted  with  all  she  did,  and  more  proud  of  her  pro- 
gress, her  appearance,  and  art  of  fascinating,  than  even  of 
his  own  daughter's.  The  blessed  times  she  had  known 
when  he  was  so  interested  and  pleased  with  her  regards 
for  Charles,  and  had  looked  upon  the  youthful  pair  as  so 
likely  to  be  happy  in  each  other,  would  return  no  more. 
She  had  gradually  become  calmed  in  her  grief  for  her 
own  wrongs,  was  already  resigned  to  her  fate — there  was 
no  hour  of  the  day  but  that  she  thought  of  Charles,  but 
with  scarce  a  hope  of  ever  being  united  to  him.  The  life 
she  was  leading,  too,  had  its  pleasures,  not  dependent  on 
earthly  hopes  and  joys  ;  these  were  abandoned. 

Her   household  duties  performed,  she  was  ever  as  a 


190         BRANDON  ;     OE,    A    HUNDRED    YEARS   AGO. 

ministering  angel  to  the  sick,  and  the  poor,  and  the  broken 
in  spirit,  as  with  noiseless  feet  she  stole  to  their  bedsides. 
Her  serene,  chastened  beauty  shone  in  their  eyes  with 
soft  lustre,  like  one  of  the  beautiful  alabaster  lamps,  whose 
radiance  ever  beams  before  the  shrine  in  Catholic  cathed- 
rals, and  which,  withdrawn  from  the  glare  of  day,  re- 
sembles some  watching  spirit,  visible  only  in  heavenly 
flame.  And  with  these  poor  people  she  had  made  a  com- 
munion of  interest  and  intelligence  ;  she  had  learned  how 
to  draw  from  them  the  recital  of  their  lives,  their  trials, 
their  sufferings,  and  penetrating  the  homely  garb  in 
which  their  thoughts  were  clothed,  she  found  much  of  the 
truest  beauty  in  their  simple,  unaffected  stories.  "  These 
poor  people  must  miss  me,"  she  said,  "  when  I  am  gone, 
and  it  pains  me  to  the  heart  to  think  of  leaving  them,  for 
I  have  no  pleasures  to  look  forward  to  now  as  I  had  of  old, 
when  I  left  the  island  for  the  first  time." 

The  news  afflicted  the  cottagers  greatly.  They  talked 
of  it  together  in  little  groups,  with  sorrowful  faces,  and 
would  say  to  Lucy,  "  And  shall  we  never  see  you  no 
more?  won't  you  come  again  to  see  us  when  we  are 
sick,  and  give  us  our  doctor's  stuff,  and  read  our  Bibles 
to  us  ?  Oh,  can't  you  stay  a  little  longer,  Miss  Lucy, 
only  a  little  while,  and  then  we'll  try  and  not  complain  ?  " 
Lucy,  with  tearful  eyes,  would  tell  them  not  to  mourn 
for  her,  that  she  would  not  forget  them,  but  would  often 
send  kind  messages  and  tokens  of  remembrance,  and,  if 
she  possibly  could,  would  visit  them  once  in  a  while.  She 
urged  them  not  to  forget  the  words  she  had  spoken  of  a 
better  land  on  high,  where  they  should  suffer  no  more, 
and  to  love  the  words  of  Him  whose  teachings  she  had 
repeated  to  them.  Her  own  words,  she  said,  had  been 
weak  and  feeble,  but  His  were  able  to  sustain  and  comfort 
them  in  all  their  afflictions. 


LUCY'S   NEW   HOME.  191 

She  went  from  house  to  house,  when  the  time  came 
to  say  farewell.  All  blessed  her,  and  many  offered  to  her 
little  articles  of  their  own  making,  each  charging  her  at 
the  same  time,  "  to  think  of  poor  old  so  and  so  some- 
times." She  visited  alone  every  little  nook  of  the  island, 
endeared  to  her  from  childhood  by  some  memory  con- 
nected with  it ;  the  schoolhouse,  with  its  plot  of  green 
before  the  door,  where  she  had  watched  the  children  at 
their  sports ;  the  rude  little  church,  where  she  had  listen- 
ed with  such  awe  to  her  father  in  his  sacred  desk ;  the 
graveyard,  with  its  quaint  old  tombstones  and  the  heav- 
ing heaps  of  earth,  beneath  which  she  had  been  told 
reposed  her  little  brothers  and  sisters,  there  she  had  sat 
many  a  time  and  wondered,  with  a  child's  curiosity,  how 
they  could  sleep  there,  and  still,  as  her  father  said,  be  in 
the  skies. 

She  felt  that  she  should  miss  the  reeded  ponds  from 
which  she  had  often  seen  the  wild  fowl  fly ;  the  long  glit- 
tering beach  and  the  rolling  breakers  which  she  loved  to 
watch ;  and,  beyond  all,  her  ow n  dear  quiet  home,  and 
her  sweet  little  chamber  which  had  been  of  late  a  sanctu- 
ary, undisturbed  by  the  cares  and  miseries  she  had  known 
before. 

Miriam,  in  saying  farewell,  told  Lucy  that  she  might 
sometimes  hear  from  her ;  but  she  did  not  again  refer  to 
her  sister  or  any  part  of  the  story  she  had  narrated.  Her 
thoughts  dwelt  almost  exclusively  on  her  vagrant  son. 

In  company  with  her  father  and  mother,  Lucy  at  length 
left  the  island;  and,  with  a  heavy  heart,  she  saw  it  sink 
from  her  sight  below  the  Avaters,  as  if  all  that  she  loved 
were  buried  with  it  beneath  the  seas 

Once  again  Lucy  entered  her  uncle's  house  in  Boston ; 
butsawhimnot  coming  to  greet  her  with  that  pleasant  smile 
which  always  lighted  his  features  when  they  met.  It  was, 


192         BRANDON  J    OR,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO- 

indeed,  a  house  of  mourning.  She  passed  into  the  pretty 
room  where  she  so  often  sat  with  Charles,  and  sung,  and 
studied ;  it  was  the  same  ;  and  the  books,  the  familiar 
objects  of  the  apartment,  spoke  in  touching  memories  to 
her.  But  when  she  looked  out  into  the  garden,  where 
words  of  love  were  spoken,  its  desolate  aspect  struck  her 
to  the  heart;  it  truly  pictured  the  wintry  stern  realities 
of  her  own  life,  stripped  of  all  its  summer  bloom ;  the 
bare  trees  tossed  their  branches  against  the  cold  gray  sky, 
the  paths  were  strewn  with  sere  leaves,  and  the  fountain 
that  had  shot  its  jet  upwards  in  silvery  spray,  was  mute 
and  frozen. 

She  was  glad  to  find  that  her  aunt  was  not  left  alone  in 
her  sorrow.  Randolph  and  Matilda  were  still  present 
with  their  infant  son.  The  cousins  had  both  altered  since 
Matilda  was  a  bride ;  both  had  had  their  griefs,  and  when 
Randolph  spoke  to  his  wife  of  Lucy's  changed  looks,  and 
thin  pale  cheek,  attributable  but  to  one  cause,  they  both 
mourned  over  it.  "  She  is  a  martyr,"  said  he,  "  she  looks 
good  and  holy,  as  if  she  no  longer  lived  for  earthly  hopes ; 
but,  oh,  how  sad  that  her  happiness  should  be  ruined,  her 
peace  sacrificed,  by  the  narrow-minded  prejudice  of  two 
self-willed  men!  "Were  I  my  cousin  Charles,  I  would 
brave  all  my  father's  anger,  for  such  a  woman." 

"  True,"  said  Matilda,  "  but  you  know  that  Lucy  would 
not  disobey  her  father,  much  as  she  loves  Charles;  do 
not,  I  implore  you — gladly  as  I  would  see  him  marry 
her,  do  not  try,  by  one  word,  to  influence  him  to  break 
peace  with  his  father ;  it  could  do  no  good,  and  for  my 
own  part,  I  shall  endeavor  to  console  Lucy,  but  speak 
as  though  they  were  never  to  meet  again."  With  this 
purpose,  Matilda,  without  actually  saying  that  there  could 
never  be  a  hope  of  the  union  with  Charles,  endeavored,  in 
conversation  with  Lucy,  to  impress  her  with  its  great  im- 


LUCY  S   NEW   HOME.     -  193 

probability.  But  she  assured  her,  and  truly,  that  Charles 
dearly  loved  her,  and  would  seek  her  the  first  moment 
that  her  father  relented  in  the  least.  She  did  not  tell  her 
what  Charles  had  really  resolved  on,  and  confided  to  her ; 
namely,  his  determined  purpose,  ere  long,  if  Mr.  Brandon 
would  not  act  more  justly,  to  openly  set  his  authority  at 
defiance,  and  seek  to  make  Lucy  his  own.  Matilda  had 
not  encouraged  him  in  his  purpose,  and  was  unwilling  to 
tell  Lucy,  as  it  would  only  give  her  pain,  and  lead  her  to 
refuse  his  solicitations. 

It  was  settled  that  Matilda's  mother  should  go  with 
her  children  to  Virginia,  and  that  the  family  mansion  be 
sold,  which  Lucy  heard  with  keen  anguish,  as  she  had 
hoped  to  visit  much  at  a  home  so  dear  to  her. 

Before  parting  from  Matilda,  Lucy  had  another  long 
conversation  with  her  about  Charles.  She  told  her  to  say 
that  she  felt  towards  him  the  same  deep  love  she  had  ever 
felt — it  was  unconquerable  by  delays  or  trials, — but  not 
to  seek  her  unless  his  father  receded  from  the  position  he 
held.  If  Matilda  saw  fit,  she  might  further  hint  to  Charles 
that  her  own  parents'  scruples  would  be  easily  removed, 
at  any  similar  demonstration  from  old  Mr.  Brandon. 

The  relatives  separated,  the  household  furniture  was  dis- 
posed of,  the  whole  estate  sold  to  strangers,  and  Lucy, 
and  her  father  and  mother  repaired  to  their  new  house  in 
Cambridge.  Lucy  at  first  was  much  delighted  in  arrang- 
ing the  household,  and  with  her  mother  busied  in  making 
their  new  and  pretty  furniture  display  itself  to  the  best 
advantage ;  in  placing  her  father's  books  and  papers  in 
the  ample,  cheerful,  sunny  room,  such  a  contrast  to  the 
solemn  darkness  of  his  study  on  the  island,  but  which  she 
loved  best  after  all.  Then  came  the  laying  out  of  the 
garden,  long  before  the  first  flower  of  spring  peeped 
forth,  and  receiving  visits  from-  neighbors,  who  kindly 
9 


194         BRANDON  J    OK,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

called  with  offerings  of  help,  some  more  liberal  in  gifts 
even  than  words.  Lucy  was  glad  to  see  the  change 
wrought  in  her  father  and  mother,  the  former  especially, 
who  now  found  for  the  first  time  in  more  than  twenty-five 
years  the  society  he  loved,  of  literary  character.  Books 
by  thousands  charmed  him  in  the  college  library,  and  he 
now  frequently  said  that  he  had  lost  the  best  part  of  his  life 
in  obscurity,  and  that,  hard  as  he  had  labored,  he  had 
done  no  good,  the  Gospel  seed  having  fallen  upon  barren 
ground.  Then  Lucy  would  not  allow  this  to  pass  without 
comment,  and  would  sometimes  adduce  visible  proof  of 
her  arguments  when  she  received  a  letter  from  one  of 
the  old  cottagers,  almost  as  puzzling  as  Egyptian  hiero- 
glyphics, but  once  deciphered,  found  to  contain  much  of 
sound  Christian  faith  and  hope,  and  almost  always  bear- 
ing reference  to  some  text  which  the  good  pastor  had 
preached  long  long  ago,  and  which  he  had  himself  forgotten. 
With  the  keen  relish  of  years  unsated,  Mr.  Tyrrell  would 
go  back  again  to  the  library,  after  the  discussion,  and 
revel  among  folios  in  the  dusky  alcoves,  pausing  now  and 
then  to  listen  to  the  sound  of  the  college  bells,  which  he 
declared  the  sweetest  music  he  had  ever  heard ;  though 
we  know  they  were  not  more  musical  one  hundred  years 
ago  than  they  are  now,  and  sounded  just  as  hatefully  to 
students  at  morning  prayer  time. 

Lucy  had  little  taste  for  society  such  as  had  enchanted 
her  two  or  three  years  before,  when  she  first  entered  upon 
life  in  Boston.  The  company  of  her  father's  friends  gave 
her  pleasure,  yet  the  enjoyment  they  afforded  her  was 
less  than  the  delight  she  took  in  seeing  him  happy,  an 
ornament  of  that  intellectual  society  which  he  appeared 
so  well  fitted  for,  and  from  which  he  had  been  so  many 
years  debarred. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

EVIL  TIDINGS. 

MB.  TYRKELL,  now  absolved  from  parochial  cares,  led 
no  longer  the  recluse  life  he  had  spent  in  the  island,  and 
not  only  sought  company  to  a  degree  which  Lucy  thought 
excessive,  but  became  anxious  that  she,  too,  should  bear 
part  in  it  for  her  own  sake. 

Gloomy  apprehensions  began  to  mingle  with  her  feel- 
ings ;  her  father  was  proud  of  her ;  he  thought  her  charms 
too  rare  to  be  hidden  from  the  world,  and  wished  her  to 
shine  in  society,  even  to  lead  it,  when  such  display  was 
absolutely  revolting  to  her. 

Without  totally  discarding  his  clerical  character,  Mr. 
Tyrrell  was  led  away  by  the  fascinations  of  company  in 
a  manner  that  did  not  eventually  conduce  to  his  own 
happiness  or  that  of  his  family.  Lucy  saw  with  sorrow 
that  her  wish  of  retirement  was  displeasing  to  him,  and 
what  ti'oubled  her  far  more,  that  the  utter  indifference 
with  which  she  received  the  attentions  of  several  men, 
whom  the  present  world  would  style  "  most  eligible 
matches,"  was  not  countenanced  by  him  in  the  manner 
she  expected.  She  did  not  live  for  attention,  and  wished 
to  receive  none ;  when  paid  it  annoyed  her ;  she  would 
not  suffer  herself  to  be  pursued  by  it,  and  in  such  cases 
assumed  a  hauteur  which  repelled  intrusion  and  forbade 
approach.  Though  her  father  as  yet  did  not  express  to 
her  his  wishes,  his  looks  indicated  his  displeasure,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life  she  thought  he  judged  her  tin 

(195) 


196         BRANDON  ;    OB,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

justly  and  unkindly.  Had  she  not  in  everything  been  to 
him  an  affectionate  and  dutiful  daughter  ?  She  had 
given  up  at  his  command  the  one  she  loved,  and  could 
not  even  this  purchase  peace,  and  the  wretched  privilege 
of  mourning  over  her  sorrows  in  secret  ?  This  was  hard  ; 
what  could  it  add  to  her  father's  happiness  to  see  her  sur- 
rounded by  those  whose  love  and  raptures  she  despised  ? 
At  length  when,  in  order  to  be  freed  from  one  or  two 
who  hoped  to  win  her  by  perseverance,  Lucy  absolutely 
refused  their  offers  of  marriage,  and  they,  like  silly  fools, 
could  not  help  talking  and  being  enraged  at  it,  the  news 
reached  Mr.  Tyrrell's  ears. 

He  then  spoke  to  his  daughter,  and,  after  her  descrip- 
tion of  these  two  lovers,  which  led  him  to  congratulate 
himself  that  he  was  not  to  be  father-in-law  to  either,  he 
followed  up  the  conversation  by  asking  if  she  would  never 
be  willing  to  receive  attention,  provided  a  person  against 
whom  nothing  could  be  alleged  were  to  present  himself. 
"  Never  ! "  said  Lucy,  looking  up  to  heaven,  and  speaking 
most  solemnly,  "  never,  while  I  live  !  " 

"  But  why  not,  Lucy  ?"  said  Mr.  Tyrrell. 

"  Oh,  my  father,"  said  she,  bursting  into  tears,  "  surely 
you  know  too  well  already." 

"  Lucy,  Lucy,  I  am  sorry  to  find  that  you  still  cherish 
this  youthful  love.  I  was  in  hopes  that  it  would  have 
been  quite  eradicated,  by  this  time." 

"Father,  do  you  judge  me  thus,  and  think  I  would 
lend  my  heart  so  lightly  ?  No,  sir,  believe  me  when  I 
love,  I  love  ardently.  I  did  not  cast  my  affections  on  a 
fool,  or  on  an  ordinary  being.  I  did,  I  do  love  Charles 
Brandon  with  my  whole  soul ;  and  never,  never,  will  I 
renounce  that  love,  until  I  know  that  he  deserves  it  no 
longer;  or  that  he  has  ceased  to  cherish  me  with  the 
same  tenderness.  Then  I  may  listen  to  you  with  some 


EVIL    TIDINGS.  197 

patience.  But  now,  my  dear  father,  as  you  love  me  do 
not  mention  this  subject  again,  for  it  will  kill  me  with 
grief."  Lucy  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  sobbed 
aloud ;  and  Mr.  Tyrrell,  for  the  time  abandoning  his  pur- 
pose, smoothed  her  hair  with  his  palms ;  then  withdrawing 
silently  from  the  room,  left  his  daughter  to  her  own  sad 
reflections. 

But  Lucy  was  again  harassed,  ere  long,  and  in  this 
instance  by  one  for  whom  she  had  felt  instinctive  dread 
from  the  first  hour  she  saw  him.  This  was  the  young 
Mr.  Lascelles,  who  lived  alone  in  the  large  house  which 
stood  near  by ;  the  same  person  whom  Charles  had  seen 
come  swaggering  down  to  the  gateway.  Lucy  had  heard 
with  disgust,  of  her  name  being  toasted  at  the  frequent 
entertainments  which  he  held  in  his  mansion ;  when  he 
gathered  together  a  number  of  boon  companions,  whose 
noisy  revelry  was  often  carried  far  into  the  night.  There 
was  nothing  in  his  appearance  to  fascinate  a  woman  of 
refined  tastes.  His  countenance  bold,  haughty,  and  sen- 
sual, looked  the  proper  index  of  his  mind.  A  red,  bloated 
complexion  told  too  plainly  of  high  living ;  and  his  whole 
appearance  would  have  exactly  suited  the  ideal  of  a  fox 
hunting,  carousing,  English  country  squire. 

But  his  education  was  not  deficient ;  he  was  of  good 
family,  rich,  and  generous  with  his  money;  generally 
popular ;  and  was  received  into  the  society  of  fashion  as 
a  welcome  guest.  But  to  Lucy  there  was  something  in 
him  utterly  repulsive.  She  could  not  endure  his  undis- 
guised looks  of  admiration  across  the  village  church ;  or 
when  she  frequently  met  him  in  her  walks.  In  spite  of 
her  efforts  to  shun  him,  he  appeared  to  cross  her  path  go 
where  she  would ;  and  to  her  dismay,  it  was  not  long 
before  he  obtained  an  introduction  to  her  father,  and 
succeeded  so  well  in  entering  into  his  good  graces,  that  he 


198         BRANDON  ;    OR,    A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

received  an  invitation  to  visit  at  the  house.  HLs  jovial, 
careless,  happy  style  of  talking,  pleased  Mr.  Tyrrell. 
Lascelles,  who  had  been  thoroughly  educated,  could  also 
when  he  chose,  converse  well  on  literary  topics ;  while 
an  intimate  familiarity  with  classic  authors,  sometimes 
supplied  timely  information  in  learning,  which  the  clergy- 
man had  forgotten. 

Mr.  Tyrrell  heard  also  frequently,  anecdotes  of  his  lib- 
erality and  kindness  to  the  poor,  all  of  which  were  strictly 
true ;  for  the  young  man,  fond  as  he  was  of  company 
and  high  living,  had  many  redeeming  traits ;  and  no  one 
could  ever  suspect  him  of  a  mean  action.  Nor  was  he 
dissolute  in  his  habits ;  his  reputation  among  women  was 
good ;  he  was  even  rather  a  favorite  with  them,  although 
the  repoi-t  of  his  wealth  may  have  had  much  to  do  with 
this  kind  opinion. 

Having  gained  access  to  the  house,  Mr.  Lascelles  was 
not  long  in  making  up  his  mind,  that  Lucy  Tyrrell,  of  all 
the  women  he  had  ever  seen,  was  the  one,  the  only  one 
worthy  to  preside  over  the  destinies  of  his  drawing-rooms, 
and  drive  in  his  carriage.  Lascelles  fell  in  love.  He  did 
not  make  himself  miserable,  because  he  thought  he  had 
only  to  offer  his  hand  and  fortune  to  any  woman,  and  she 
would  rejoice  at  the  chance  of  securing  him.  On  the 
contrary,  he  gave  more  dinners  than  ever  before ;  and 
was  pleased  in  hearing  Lucy's  name  continually  linked 
with  his  own,  until  he  began  almost  to  feel  that  matri- 
mony was  to  ensue  as  a  natural  consequence,  without  the 
trouble  of  courtship. 

"  To  think,"  said  he,  "  of  my  being  in  love ;  I,  who 
deemed  the  fortress  of  my  heart  impregnable.  Well,  I 
do  not  find  it  distressing,  as  I  have  read  in  the  poets.  I  am 
not  'sighing  like  a  furnace;'  nor  shall  I  indite  'a  woeful 
ballad  made  to  my  mistress'  eyebrow.'  I'll  go  and  take 


EVIL  TIDINGS.  199 

a  horseback  gallop  now,  and  dream  over  this  love  of  mine. 
I  will  propose  for  Lucy  next  week." 

Lucy's  father  and  mother  now  had  frequent  conversa- 
tions, of  which  she  knew  that  she  was  the  subject.  And 
she  soon  had  too  good  reason  to  fear  that  they  looked 
upon  Mr.  Lascelles  with  a  favor  that  would  be  likely  to 
encourage  his  suit.  Mr.  Tyrrell  had  said  nothing  to  her 
since  that  day  when  she  so  solemnly  begged  him  to  leave 
her  in  peace,  and  to  the  solitude  of  her  love.  But  her 
mother  frequently  spoke  of  Lascelles  with  praise ;  and  as 
we  have  before  observed,  she  had  less  delicacy  of  feeling 
than  her  husband.  She  often  pained  Lucy  by  the  abrupt- 
ness of  her  remarks,  and  her  hints  that  she  should  not 
neglect  so  good  a  chance  of  distinction  in  life ;  instead, 
as  she  expressed  it,  of  "hiding  her  light  under  a  bushel." 
Sometimes  in  her  walks,  the  mother  would  choose  the 
path  which  led  by  the  great  house,  and  bid  Lucy  mark 
it,  and  the  broad  lands  around,  which  then  formed  a  no- 
ble estate,  though  now  much  curtailed.  Only  a  small 
portion  of  the  grounds  now  pertain  to  the  mansion  ; 
though  it  still  stands  in  its  grandeur,  known  in  later  times 
than  Mr.  Lascelles,  as  the  head  quarters  of  the  great 
revolutionary  chieftain ;  and  now  as  the  home  of  a  cele- 
brated poet.  Mrs.  Tyrrell  would  pause  before  it,  and 
with  a  mother's  pride,  hope  that  ere  long  it  would  be 
her  daughter's.  And  Lucy  would  again  solemnly  repeat, 
"  never !  It  cannot,  shall  not  be.  Never !  never !  What 
is  his  great  house  to  me ;  what  his  broad  lands !  Did  I 
not  cast  words  of  scorn  in  the  face  of  one,  who  holds  an 
estate  to  which  this  is  but  one  of  our  island  freeholds  in 
insignificance,  because  I  thought  he  had  dared  to  suppose 
that  I  could  be  tempted  to  sell  myself?  And  this  Mr. 
Lascelles ;  how  is  it  that  he  has  delighted  you  and  papa  ? 
What  is  he  ?  An  idler,  a  spendthrift,  if  I  mistake  not, 


200          BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

fond  of  his  jolly  comrades,  and  a  coarse  jest  over  the 
bottle ;  proud  of  his  stud  of  horses  and  his  dogs.  What 
value  would  a  woman  be  in  his  eyes,  but  as  something 
prized  for  her  personal  charms  alone !  She  must  be  one 
that  his  friends  might  come  and  look  upon,  to  envy; 
dressed  to  shine  amidst  heartless  splendors,  and  doomed 
to  live  without  one  true  friend,  or  one  really  happy  hour." 
But  the  mother  thought  differently ;  would  argue  and 
suggest  to  no  purpose.  Lucy  had  but  one  answer ;  "  I 
love  another,  dearly,  devotedly  love  him ;  and  never  will 
I  change  until  I  know  that  he  has  changed." 

Lucy  now  would  often  wish  that  she  could  go  back  to 
the  quiet  island,  where  of  late  her  life  was  passing  so  se- 
renely, occupied  with  kind  visitations  to  the  poor  old 
parishioners.  She  sighed  for  the  sanctity  of  her  familiar 
room ;  for  the  quiet  churchyard,  that  she  might  sit  beside 
the  graves  of  her  unknown  brothers  and  sisters,  who  had 
always  been  to  her  as  angels.  She  longed  once  more  to 
stand  upon  the  rocks,  decked  by  the  long  salt  seaweed, 
which  rose  and  fell  with  the  waters,  and  watch  the  sun 
go  down  over  the  billowy  waste.  She  thought  of  the 
times  when  as  a  child  she  had  looked  into  the  depths  of 
the  gorgeous  cloud  rifts,  and  fancied  she  could  behold 
the  walk  of  immortal  spirits  amidst  their  splendors ;  and 
when  she  had  listened,  entranced,  to  the  voice  of  the  sea, 
which  then  sung  songs  of  joy  to  her.  Now  she  heard  it 
still,  but  its  notes  were  sad ;  it  came  to  her  in  moaning 
accents,  as  though  foreboding  ill;  as  she  had  heard  it 
moan  so  wild  and  strangely  on  that  day  when  she  learned 
Miriam's  story. 

Although  the  correspondence  between  Charles  and 
herself  had  long  ceased,  she  now  thought  it  strange  that 
she  did  not  hear  of  him  through  Matilda,  who  had  for- 
merly often  written  to  her.  She  felt  assured  that  Charles 


EVIL  TIDINGS.  201 

must  know  she  had  left  the  island ;  he  would  hear  of  it 
from  Randolph,  and  it  would  be  enough  to  excite  his 
interest  in  her  new  life  :  he  could  not  have  forgotten  his 
love  for  her  and  turned  away  to  another  ?  This  would 
give  Matilda  pain  to  inform  her ;  but  no !  she  could  not 
harbor  such  a  thought ;  she  longed  to  hear  from  her  cousin, 
but  nothing  came,  and  her  sense  of  propriety  forbade  her 
to  open  the  subject. 

One  day  she  was  in  Boston,  and  happening  to  pass  by 
her  uncle's  mansion,  it  was  closed,  deserted  and  gloomy ; 
but  in  the  garden  were  »igns  of  life,  or  rather  what  to 
her  looked  like  destruction.  The  garden  wall  was  broken 
down,  the  shrubbery  neglected,  the  vase  removed  from 
its  pedestal,  but  the  fountain  still  played  on  with  careless 
glee,  sparkling,  but  heedless  witness  alike  of  joys  now 
forever  gone,  and  of  present  desolation. 

Workmen's  tools,  and  piles  of  lumber  strewn  about 
the  ground,  indicated  building,  and  rough  men  trod  care- 
lessly over  the  spot  so  dear  to  her.  She  turned  away 
with  a  sad  heart,  and  gloomy  forebodings  fell  upon  her. 

Lascelles  now  redoubled  his  attentions;  he  offered 
himself  to  her,  she  repulsed  him  with  cold  disdain.  She 
told  him  plainly  of  her  engaged  affections,  and  even  if 
her  heart  was  not  already  won,  that  he  could  not  gain  it. 
He  was  earnest,  but  not  presumptuous  or  indelicate  in 
his  pursuit;  he  hoped  that  time  would  induce  her  to 
change,  and  regard  him  more  favorably'  Lucy  reiter- 
ated her  resolves,  and  when  he  continued  to  repeat  his 
professions,  she  heard  him  in  silence,  then  signified  by  a 
bow  that  the  conference  was  ended. 

Mr.  Lascelles,  not  daunted,  laid  the  subject  of  his  hopes 

before  Lucy's  parents,  and  as  he  expected,  found  that  his 

proposals  were  favorably  received.     They  both  imagined 

that  a  little  time  would  produce  a  change  in  their  daugh- 

9* 


202         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

ter's  feelings.  Mr.  Tyrrell  spoke  kindly  to  his  distressed 
child  ;  he  said  that  he  was  now  growing  old,  that  in  the 
course  of  nature  he  could  not  be  very  long  spared,  and 
that  it  was  the  great  desire  of  his  life  to  see  his  Lucy 
happily  married,  as  he  thought  she  would  find  a  kind, 
generous,  indulgent  husband  in  Mr.  Lascelles ;  one  in 
whom  no  vices  could  be  proved ;  but  much  that  was  excel- 
lent. Lucy  heard  in  agonized  sorrow,  but  shook  her 
head  in  determined  refusal. 

At  length,  Mr.  Tyrrell  came  to  her  room  one  morning, 
and  put  into  her  hands  a  letter. 

He  had  been  more  kind  than  Lucy  thought ;  he  had 
written  to  Mr.  Brandon  greatly  against  his  own  inclina- 
tions, asking  news  of  his  son,  and  if  he  still  clung  to  the 
memory  of  his  daughter ;  for  although  he  did  not  say  so 
in  his  letter,  he  had  determined,  as  her  happiness  was  so 
centered  in  Charles,  to  offer  no  further  opposition  to  their 
union,  provided  his  father  was  at  all  disposed  to  favor  it. 
In  due  time  came  the  answer  from  Mr.  Brandon,  who, 
after  dilating  on  the  unexpected  honor  done  him,  said  not 
one  word  of  his  son's  affections,  but  that  he  was  shortly 
to  be  married  to  the  woman  of  his  (Mr.  Brandon's)  choice, 
Blanche  Estcourt ;  closing  with  a  panegyric  on  the  beauty 
and  virtues  of  that  young  lady,  and  assuring  Mr.  Tyrrell 
of  his  distinguished  consideration. 

This  news  Lucy's  father  considered  sufficient,  and  in- 
dignant that  his  daughter  should  have  wasted  her  noble 
love  on  such  a  deceiver,  as  he  considered  Charles,  showed 
her  the  letter  without  hesitation.  She  read  it,  said  noth- 
ing, and  when  left  alone,  shed  not  one  tear,  but  kneeling 
by  her  bedside,  she  folded  her  hands,  and  prayed. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 


CHARLES   JOINS   THE   ARMY. 

THE  letter  spoken  of  in  the  last  chapter,  as  written  by 
Mr.  Brandon,  and  which  caused  Lucy  such  intense  sor- 
row, had  no  truth  in  it,  although  the  writer  did  not 
mean  to  deceive  wrhen  he  penned  it.  For  Mr.  Brandon, 
having  made  up  his  mind  that  Blanche  Estcourt  was  to 
be  his  son's  wife,  no  sooner  received  Mr.  Tyrrell's  com- 
munication, in  which  news  was  asked  of  Charles,  than  he 
determined  to  extinguish  all  hopes  in  Lucy,  and  wrote  ac- 
cordingly, without  informing  either  his  wife  or  his  son  of 
having  done  so.  But  he  wrote,  thinking  that  his  own  plan 
was  of  easy  accomplishment ;  that  in  short  Charles  was  to 
do  as  he  insisted.  Blanche  should  be  Mrs.  Brandon,  and 
his  son  her  husband,  and  thus  all  would  be  concluded, 
and  the  young  couple  feel  much  better  that  older  and 
wiser  heads  than  their  own  had  regulated  affairs  of  matri- 
mony for  them,  and  saved  them  all  trouble.  But  he  was 
slightly  disturbed  after  dispatching  his  letter,  when,  on 
seeing  Lady  Mildred,  she  informed  him  that  the  marriage 
could  not  take  place  as  soon  as  they  wished ;  that  Blanche 
had  for  some  time  past,  made  the  most  serious  objections 
to  having  the  subject  named. 

"  My  God,  madam !  "  said  Mr.  Brandon,  astounded, 
"  what  do  you  tell  me  ?  These  young  people  are  mad, 
madam,  absolutely  mad !  do  they  intend  to  thwart  our 
plans,  or  try  to  do  so  ?  for  of  course  they  will  have  to 
yield  to  us;  I  repeat  it,  madam,  do  they?" 

"  I  have  no  doubt  they  do." 

(203) 


204         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

"  Then,  as  to  that  son  of  mine,  if  he  was  a  little  younger, 
I  would  horsewhip  him,  but  as  it  is,  I'll  .  .  .  .  " 

"  Stop  one  moment,"  said  Mildred. 

"  No,  madam,  I  will  not  stop ;  my  son,  I  say,  shall 
marry  your  daughter ;  do  you  wish  him  to  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  but  your  son,  it  seems,  has  some  will  of  his 
own;  and  as  you  cannot  horsewhip  him  into  loving  Blanche, 
perhaps  plans  of  persuasion  will  fail  also." 

"  Loving,  madam !  I  did  not  talk  of  loving ;  I  was 
thinking  of  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage  only ;  they 
will  love  each  other  afterward ;  of  course  they  will." 

"But,"  pursued  Mildred,  without  noticing  this  non- 
sense, "  my  daughter,  I  am  sorry  to  find,  has  a  temper 
that  I  never  knew  of;  she  has  always  yielded  to  me  the 
most  absolute  submission,  but  on  this  point  she  is  firm :  re- 
solved not  to  marry  your  son  Charles  even  if  he  were 
ready  at  this  moment  to  offer  his  hand,  unless  she  knew 
that  he  devotedly  loved  her.  What  are  we  to  do  ?  noth- 
can  be  effected  by  passion ;  for  on  this  subject  I  have 
never  seen  one  more  obstinately  determined  than  Blanche ; 
and  passion  will  not  influence  her." 

"  I  will  disinherit  my  son." 

"  So  I  have  heard  you  say  before ;  but  what  good  will 
be  produced  by  doing  so  ?  " 

"  The  consequence  to  him,  madam,  will  be  tremendous, 
beyond  aught  I  can  describe ;  he  might  well  shudder  in 
contemplation  of  thenV'  said  Mr.  Brandon,  with  awful 
pomposity. 

"  No  doubt  he  will,"  said  Mildred  ironically.  "  But, 
Mr.  Brandon,  do  you  think  that  he  actually  has  an  aver- 
giou  for  Blanche,  or  are  his  feelings  those  of  mere  indiffer- 
ence ?  Let  me  ask,  does  he  still  profess  to  love  Lucy  Tyr- 
rell?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Mr.  Brandon,  gloomily;  "  but  I 


CHARLES  JOINS   THE   ARMY,  205 

think  all  that  matter  is  over,  for  I  wrote  a  letter  to  her 
father  in  answer  to  one  of  his,  and  told  him  that  his 
daughter  might  think  no  more  of  my  son.  I  should  not 
be  surprised  if  she  really  had  another  love,  because  I  re- 
member me  now,  Mr,  Tyrrell  said  that  he  did  not  wish 
his  daughter  to  cling  to  false  hopes,  to  the  disparagement 
of  those  whom  it  might  suit  him  to  admit  to  his  house. 
Heavens!  were  she  but  once  married  or  betrothed,  and 
my  son  knew  of  it,  all  our  troubles  would  vanish." 

"  Very  good,"  returned  Mildred ;  "  now  be  counselled 
by  me.  You  can  easily  by  another  letter,  find  out  if 
Miss  Tyrrell  has  a  lover ;  for  you  can  base  as  an  excuse 
for  writing,  that  the  marriage  with  Blanche  is  postponed< 
Mr.  Tyrrell  will  be  very  likely  to  speak  of  his  daughter's 
prospects." 

"  Admirable  counsel !  I  will  at  once  do  so.  I  will  also 
speak  to  my  son." 

"You  had  better  not,  until  you  hear  from  Lucy's 
father." 

"  Very  well,  madam,  I  will  wait  then ;  and  now  how  is 
my  sweet  young  friend,  Miss  Blanche,  cannot  I  pay  my 
respects  to  her." 

"  No,  thank  you ;  not  to-day.     She  is  ill,  quite  ill,  and 
cannot  bear  excitement." 
"Not  seriously  ill,  I  hope?" 

"  Oh,  no  indeed !  nothing  is  really  the  matter  beyond  a 
temporary  weakness ;  but  you  know  a  mother's  anxiety." 
"  Then  my  kindest  wishes  to  her,  my  dear  madam," 
said  Mr.  Brandon,  and  took  his  leave. 

Blanche  was  ill,  indeed ;  she  was  a  dying  girl,  to  whom 
the  world  was  now  but  a  resting-place,  before  she  should 
begin  her  journey  into  eternity ;  all  the  schemes,  hopes, 
and  plans  of  her  mother,  availed  nothing  now.  She  did 
not  suffer  herself  to  dwell  upon  these ;  she  cherished  her 


206         BRANDON  ;    OB,    A   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

love  as  if  for  one  dead,  but  no  bitterness  mingled  with 
her  feelings.  Thoroughly  conscious  of  her  situation,  she 
gave  up  her  last  days  to  religious  instruction  and  thought. 
She  would  say  to  Mildred ; — "  Mother,  I  have  ever  obeyed 
you  in  all  things ;  but  I  know  that  the  hour  of  my  death 
is  near  at  hand,  and  I  can  not,  indeed,  will  not  listen  to 
words  concerning  earthly  and  temporal  triumphs ;  I  think 
not  of  these,  let  me  depart  in  peace." 

But  the  mother  could  not  imagine  that  she  was  about 
to  lose  her  daughter  forever;  she  saw  her  apparently 
recovering,  in  the  full  bloom  of  beauty,  more  radiant, 
indeed,  than  she  had  ever  been.  Mildred  little  knew  the 
nature  of  her  disease — consumption  ;  how  it  cheats  hope 
to  the  last,  and  often  wears  the  mask  of  loveliness  almost 
to  the  moment  of  dissolution. 

Here  we  must  turn  away  to  pursue  our  story.  Let  us 
not  dwell  upon  a  scene  of  daily  decay,  but  bid  to  Blanche 
a  long  and  sad  farewell ;  nor  linger  beside  that  form, 
which,  ere  many  weeks,  must  be  laid  down  beneath  the 
sod 

Notwithstanding  the  caution  which  Mildred  had  given 
to  Mr.  Brandon,  he  was  too  impatient  for  the  match 
between  his  son  and  Blanche,  to  keep  the  matter  to  him- 
self. He  sought  out  Charles,  and  at  once  attacked  him 
upon  the  subject,  in  the  usual  style  of  coaxing,  mingled 
with  threats.  To  his  surprise  and  extreme  displeasure, 
he  found  his  son  less  inclined  to  listeA  to  him  patiently, 
than  at  any  previous  period.  He  treated  threats  of  disin- 
heritance with  indifference ;  refused  to  prolong  the  discus- 
sion, or  give  his  father  the  slightest  hope  that  he  would 
ever  change ;  he  always  closed  the  interview  by  saying, 
that  he  would  never  marry  Blanche  against  his  own 
will! 

He  further  plainly  told  his  astonished  father  (hat,  tired 


CHARLES  JOINS   THE   ARMY.  207 

with  his  course  of  harshness  and  tyranny,  he  had  resolved 
to  break  loose  from  him  at  once ;  that  he  should  immedi- 
ately proceed  to  the  north,  and  offer  his  hand  again  to 
Lucy  Tyrrell,  to  engage  her  for  a  future  marriage.  First, 
however,  he  was  resolved  to  win  for  himself  a  name  in 
the  service  of  his  king  and  country,  and  had  made  every 
preparation  to  join  the  ai-my  in  the  Canadas — had  already 
secured  a  lieutenant's  commission  in  the  corps  of  "  Royal 
Americans;"  these  had  joined  the  British  forces,  part 
with  Amherst,  the  commander-in-chief  in  the  region  of 
Lake  George,  and  part  with  Wolfe  at  Louisburg. 

"  Good  God,  sir ! "  said  Mr.  Brandon,  smiling  incredu- 
lously ;  "  and  how  soon  do  you  intend  to  put  this  notable 
project  of  yours  into  execution?" 

"  Day  after  to-morrow." 

"  You  shall  not  go,  sir." 

"  Listen  to  me,  father,"  said  Charles,  respectfully,  but 
firmly.  "  I  have  my  commission  in  His  Majesty's  army, 
my  services  liave  been  accepted  ;  and,  I  know  you  would 
not  wish  to  see  me  shamefully  resign  a  post  in  which  I 
may  \vin  distinguished  honor." 

The  old  man  was  touched  instantly. 

"  No,  my  son,"  said  he,  softened,  "  I  would  not.  You 
will  go,  I  see ;  and  you  must ;  you  will  do  your  duty,  and  I 
only  wish  that  His  Majesty — God  bless  his  sainted  person ! 
— could  know  that  another  scion  of  the  house  of  Brandon 
was  devoted  to  the  royal  cause,  as  the  line  has  been  for 
centuries.  But  you  have  not  long  to  stay  with  us,  my 
son ;  can  you  not  delay  a  little  while,  'tis  a  very  sudden 
parting;"  and  as  the  father  spoke,  a  tear  glistened  in  his 
eye. 

"  True,  father,  but  I  must  go." 

"Who  helped  you  to  your  commission,  without  my 
knowledge  ?  " 


208        BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

"  I  obtained  it,  as  almost  any  young  man  accustomed 
to  arms,  as  I  have  been,  can  obtain  it  now,  when  volun- 
teers for  the  war  are  sought  in  all  the  colonies.  The  influ- 
ence of  Mr.  Robinson,  the  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Bur- 
gesses,  availed  me  in  part,  and  also  that  of  another,  who 
you  would  imagine  had  no  influence,  Mr.  Henry. 

"  What !  the  one  who  plead  against  the  clergy ;  the 
seditious  Patrick  Henry  !  Indeed,  I  begin  to  think  better 
of  him ;  but  I  had  no  idea  that  such  a  man  could  have 
any  weight  at  all." 

"  A  good  deal  though,  you  find,  my  dear  father." 

"  I  am  astonished.  I  will  ride  over  to  Williamsburg 
very  soon,  and  thank  Speaker  Robinson,  and  I  will  also 
extend  my  compliments  to  Mr.  Henry,  for  his  zeal  in 
your  behalf,"  said  the  proud  aristocrat,  in  an  unusually 
condescending  manner. 

"  Now,  my  son,  tell  me  who  is  going  with  you  ?  Will 
you  join  Wolfe  or  Amherst  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  yet,  sir ;  it  will  depend  upon  the 
*  Royal  Americans,'  whom  we  shall  meet  in  Boston.  We 
may  march  through  Massachusetts,  by  way  of  Worcester 
and  Springfield,  to  Albany,  and  from  that  town  join  Am- 
herst, or  go  to  Louisburg  by  sea.  I  am  for  Wolfe,  glori- 
ous Wolfe !  Two  of  our  friends,  Montcure  and  Selden, 
go  with  me,  and  our  faithful  Bela  Tilley  insists  on 
accompanying  me,  as  companion  and  servant." 

"  Heavens ! "  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  Bela  going  too ; 
well,  he  will  make  a  figure  in  the  camp.  And  now,  Charles, 
dear  boy,  you  are  about  to  leave  us,  to  fight  for  your  king, 
God  bless  him  !  I  forgive  you  for  intending  to  leave  thus 
suddenly,  without  consulting  me  ;  but  I  feel  that  I  have 
done  you  wrong  lately,  and  made  you  unhappy."  The 
father  said  this  in  a  faltering  voice,  but  recovering,  as  if 
ashamed  of  his  weakness,  burst  out  loudly,  to  conceal  his 


CHARLES  JOINS   THE  ARMY.  209 

emotion,  "  But,  damn  it,  boy,  I  do  love  you,  and  did  all 
for  your  good  !  " 

The  mother  had  known  Charles'  intention,  but  was  not 
aware  that  he  was  so  soon  to  leave;  in  short,  he  had 
determined  to  spare  the  bitterness  of  parting,  and,  stealing 
away,  to  leave  a  note  of  farewell  for  his  parents ;  but  now, 
as  she  learned  that  in  a  few  hours  she  should  part  with 
him,  she  made  haste  to  arrange  the  small  wardrobe  he 
required,  shedding  many  a  tear,  with  a  mother's  anxiety. 
Charles,  scattering  quite  an  amount  of  small  coin  among 
the  negroes,  charged  them  to  behave  well  during  his 
absence,  and  then  went  to  Bela's  quarters  to  say  that  they 
must  be  astir  betimes  in  the  morning. 

He  received  for  answer,  "  Wal^  I  never  was  be-lated 
yet,  'cept  in  comin'  into  this  world,  and  then  'twant  no 
concern  o'  mine.  Jest  yeou  git  ready  right  away  as  nigh 
as  I  am,  then  I  calculate  there'll  be  a  pair  on  us,"  and  with 
this  notice  of  readiness  for  a  long  journey,  Bela  relapsed 
into  silence. 

Mr.  Brandon,  beneath  an  affectation  of  unconcern, 
felt  deeply ;  the  truth  was,  he  blamed  himself  for  having 
driven  his  son  from  home  by  his  conduct ;  but  he  was 
secretly  pleased  with  Charles'  spirit,  and  proud  that  he 
was  to  become  a  soldier.  He  rode  hurriedly  over  to 
Williamsburg  and  bought  the  most  elegant  sword  he 
could  find  in  the  city,  and,  always  liberal  with  money, 
forced  on  his  son  more  than  he  really  required,  although 
the  long,  heavy  purse,  filled  to  its  brim  with  shining  gold, 
was  very  acceptable  to  a  young  officer. 

To  Charles'  intense  regret,  Randolph  and  Matilda  had 
not  returned  from  the  north,  whither  they  had  been  called 
by  the  death  of  her  father,  and  during  all  this  period  of 
their  absence,  a  space  of  some  months,  he  had  never  heard 


210         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

from  them ;  "  But  it  matters  little  now,"  he  thought,  "  we 
shall  meet  in  Boston." 

The  morning  came,  and  the  watchful  Bela  knocked  at 
Charles'  door  at  the  dawn  of  day.  Breakfast  was  soon 
dispatched ;  an  agonized  parting  with  his  mother  followed. 
His  father  was  to  go  with  him  as  far  as  Williamslm  !•;.••, 
and  mounting  their  horses  they  emerged  from  under  the 
great  tower  just  as  its  bells  pealed  forth  seven.  Charles 
knew  not  that  he  never  more  should  hear  their  sound,  but 
pursuing  his  journey,  he  parted  with  his  father  at  the  city, 
with  many  a  pressure  of  the  hand.  All  the  pompous 
manner  of  Mr.  Brandon  for  once  was  laid  aside,  as  he 
solemnly  invoked  God's  blessing  on  his  son  ;  and  then  he 
retraced  his  way  back  to  Kingwood,  thoughtful  and 
melancholy. 

Charles  set  off  with  his  two  companions  and  the  faith- 
full  Bela  Tilley,  who,  to  Mr.  Brandon's  question,  "  Think 
you  you  can  take  care  of  my  son,  Bela  ?"  had  replied, 
"  Somewhat !  and  bring  him  back  sound  as  a  Rud  Island 
greenin." 

The  whole  party  were  in  high  spirits ;  they  travelled 
as  rapidly  as  possible,  and  reached  Boston  by  the  latter 
part  of  April,  1759.  There  they  at  once  found,  on  ap- 
plication to  the  proper  authorities,  that  a  detachment  of 
"Royal  Americans,"  some  twenty  in  number,  would 
shortly  join  Wolfe  at  Louisburg,  none  going  to  Lake 
George  to  meet  Amherst. 

The  season  was  pleasant,  and  the  vessel  for  Louisburg 
not  sailing  for  ten  days,  Charles  at  once  resolved  to  go 
by  the  regular  packet  to  the  island,  burning  with  im- 
patience to  see  Lucy  once  more.  Before  embarking,  he 
went  to  the  Widow  Tyrrell's  house,  hoping  to  see  his 
cousins,  but  in  vain.  He  saw  one  of  the  workmen  near 


CHARLES   JOINS   THE   ARMY.  211 

the  mansion,  who  told  him  that  the  family  had  moved 
away  to  some  other  part  of  the  town,  but  where  he  could 
not  inform  him.  The  packet  was  upon  the  point  of  start- 
ing for  the  island,  and  thinking  he  could  easily  find  Mrs. 
Tyrrell  on  his  return,  Charles  gave  little  heed  to  the  mat- 
ter, his  mind  being  too  much  occupied  with  a  more  im- 
portant object.  He  reached  the  island,  and  learned  to 
his  dismay,  that  the  family  had  left  it  some  months  before. 
Gone !  gone  where  ?  To  Boston,  he  was  told.  Dis- 
tracted with  this  intelligence,  he  turned  his  face  again 
to  the  city.  A  light,  baffling  wind  kept  him  off  the  coast 
until  the  day  before  the  bark  was  ready  to  sail  for  Cape 
Breton.  He  rushed  again  to  the  mansion  of  the  Tyrrells, 
but  with  no  better  success  than  before.  Perceiving  at 
length  the  broken  garden  wall,  he  entered  the  spot  so 
sacred  to  him,  and  its  appearance  made  him  sad  indeed. 
Near  the  mansion  he  finally  espied  one  familiar  face,  it 
was  old  Amy,  one  of  the  colored  domestics  of  the 
establishment  in  former  days. 

"  The  Lord  gracious,  Master  Charles,  how  com'd  you 
to  be  here  ?" 

"  Tell  me,  Amy,  where  are  they  all  ?  she,  she,  Lucy, 
where  is  she  ?" 

"  Oh !  dear  master,  and  didn't  you  know  old  master 's 
dead,  and  mistress  is  gone  off  to  Virginny  with  Miss  Ma- 
tilda and  Mr.  Randolph ;  and  Miss  Lucy,  I  does  'nt  know, 
indeed,  where  she  be." 

"  Merciful  Father !"  said  Charles,  at  length,  almost  be- 
side himself.  "  Yes,  I  heard,  Amy,  of  Mr.  Tyrrell's  death, 
but  Miss  Lucy,  do  you  not  indeed  know  ?  where  do  you 
think  she  is  ?" 

"  I  does  'nt  know,"  repeated  Amy.  "  I  was  sick  away 
from  here  the  time  old  mistress  went  off,  and  though  I 
see  Miss  Lucy  once  after  she  come  here  with  her  father 


212         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

and  mother,  I  did  'nt  hear  her  say  nothing  of  where  she 
was  going,  and  I  aint  never  seed  her  since." 

Charles  did  not  speak  for  many  minutes ;  he  was  con- 
vulsed with  grief;  at  length  recovering,  he  took  some 
gold  pieces  from  his  purse,  and  handed  them  to  the  old 
servant,  who  was  weeping  to  see  him  so  distressed. 
"  Here,  Amy,  my  good  old  friend,  do  not  cry ;  take  these 
and  buy  yourself  something  to  remember  me  by.  You 
used  to  like  white ;  summer  is  coming,  buy  yourself  a 
handsome  white  gown." 

"  Thank  you,  master,  I  will,"  said  Amy,  "  and  I'll  keep 
it  to  be  buried  in." 

Charles  left  the  spot ;  he  went  to  his  inn,  wrote  a  long 
but  hurried  letter  of  explanation  to  Randolph,  detailing 
his  disappointments ;  he  implored  him  at  once  to  write  to 
Lucy,  and  tell  her  all ;  then,  nearly  frantic,  he  repaired 
to  the  vessel,  ignorant  that  she  whom  he  loved  was  with- 
in four  short  miles ;  that  she,  sad  and  wretched,  was 
never  free  from  thoughts  of  him,  and  what  she  considered 
his  wanton,  heartless  treachery. 

The  wind  was  fair,  the  vessel  sailed  fast ;  the  Massa- 
chusetts' coast  grew  fainter  to  the  sight-  astern,  it  disap- 
peared from  view,  and  in  a  few  days,  just  as  the  fleet  was 
about  to  sail  for  Quebec,  Charles  and  his  companions 
joined  the  forces  of  General  James  Wolfe,  in  the  harbor 
of  Louisburg. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

A  "HERO  IN  HISTORY." 

THE  war  between  England  and  France  had  now  been 
waged  in  the  American  colonies  for  several  years.  In  the 
Canadas  and  north  western  frontiers,  the  fortunes  of 
battle  had  frequently  varied,  sometimes  in  favor  of  the 
French,  but  more  generally  of  the  English,  who  were 
slowly  gaining  ground  in  the  Gallic  possessions. 

But  deep  anxiety  for  the  result  of  the  war  was  felt  in 
England  under  Pitt's  administration;  a  feeling  shared  by 
that  mighty  statesman,  and  which  cost  him  many  an 
hour  of  sleepless  care ;  a  feeling  which,  extending  as  far 
south  as  Maryland,  elicited  a  martial  spirit  which  was  not 
forgotten,  when  but  a  few  years  later  the  troubles  with 
the  mother  country  assumed  the  shape  of  open  revolt. 
There  was  now  just  ground  for  apprehension,  for  a  chiv- 
alrous spirit  of  union  pervaded  all  ranks  of  the  French, 
and  in  the  Canadas  a  spectacle  of  almost  unequalled  gran- 
deur was  presented — that  of  two  powerful  kingdoms  ar- 
rayed against  each  other,  for  the  prize  of  a  western  em- 
pire. 

Well  might  the  gallant  Wolfe  feel  the  vast  weight  of 
the  responsibility  imposed  upon  him.  With  his  little 
army  of  eight  thousand  troops,  he  was  about  to  sail  a 
distance  of  four  hundred *miles  into  a  hostile  country,  and 
afterwards  attack  the  stronghold  of  Quebec  ;  even  then, 
before  a  twentieth  part  of  its  stupendous  fortifications 
were  reared,  regarded  as  the  Gibraltar  of  America,  and 

(213) 


214         BRANDON  ;     OR,    A    1IUNDKED    YEARS   AGO. 

well  nigh  impregnable.  A  magnificent  enterprise  lay 
before  the  young  general,  which,  successfully  accom- 
plished, would  crown  him  with  glory;  but  again,  a  single 
false  step  might  cover  him  with  defeat  and  disgrace. 

Just  at  this  period  the  numerous  victories  of  the  Brit- 
ish by  sea  and  land  had  kindled  in  Wolfe  the  loftiest  de- 
sires of  emulation,  and  it  was  the  measure  of  his  ambition 
to  render  his  own  name  great,  and  the  campaign  the 
most  illustrious  in  the  annals  of  his  country. 

In  the  very  prime  of  life,  Wolfe  was  marked  by  his 
person,  his  valor,  his  genius,  as  the  very  beau  ideal  of  a 
chivalrous  hero.  Owing  nothing  to  nobility  of  blood,  he 
had  already  acquired  a  European  reputation  as  a  soldi  ;T, 
and  won  the  favor  of  his  superiors  solely  by  merit.  He 
had  fought  with  honor  to  himself  on  the  fields  of  Fonte- 
noy  and  Dettingen,  and  the  humanity  of  his  nature  was 
made  memorable  to  the  Highlanders,  during  the  carnage 
of  Culloden.  He  was  but  twenty-two  years  of  age,  when 
he  was  promoted  to  a  Lieutenant-colonelcy,  and  scarce 
ten  years  older  when  entrusted  with  the  command  of  the 
army  in  the  St.  Lawrence. 

A  strict  disciplinarian,  he  exacted  implicit  obedience, 
yet  the  severity  of  military  rule  was  tempered  by  kind- 
ness of  disposition;  his  battalions  were  drilled  to  the 
highest  point  of  efficiency,  while  his  enthusiasm  and  de- 
voted bravery  found  a  response  in  the  breast  of  his  mean- 
est soldier. 

Nor  was  he  merely  distinguished  as  a  military  chief- 
tain ;  a  love  of  literature  beguiled  his  leisure  hours  ;  his 
letters  sparkle  with  animated  descriptions  of  man  and  na- 
ture; and  his  imagination  pictured  scenes  of  future  do- 
mestic bliss  in  England,  where  his  widowed  mother,  with 
all  her  earthly  hopes  centered  in  him,  watched  for  his 
triumphant  return. 


A    "IIEKO    IN    HISTORY."  215 

There  is  a  monument  in  Quebec  bearing  the  name  of 
Wolfe,  but  nature's  grand  memorial,  the  Heights  of 
Abraham,  stands  ever  consecrated  to  his  fame.  War 
may  shatter  the  bristling  bastions  of  the  citadel,  or  time 
may  eventually  leave  not  one  stone  upon  another;  but, as 
long  as  the  St.  Lawrence  sweeps  by  the  adamantine  base 
of  Cape  Diamond,  the  memory  of  the  hero  will  not  be 
forgotten  by  mankind. 

When  Charles  Brandon  presented  his  credentials  and 
letters  of  introdxiction  to  Wolfe,  he  was  struck  with  his 
soldierly  bearing,  his  keen  look  of  command,  and  the 
winning  sweetness  of  his  address ;  he  felt,  in  an  instant, 
that  he  could  follow  such  a  leader  to  the  death. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  come  among  us,  sir,"  said  the 
General,  "  we  want  men.  In  an  hour  I  shall  be  at  leisure. 
I  shall  put  you  through  the  drill,  to  see  what  you  are 
made  of,  and  what  you  know.  We  sail  shortly.  Jones," 
here  turning  to  an  aid-de-camp,  "  will  show  you  to  your 
quarters.  Good  morning,  sir;"  and  with  this  Wolfe 
bowed,  and  the  interview  ended. 

"  Come  on,  sir,"  said  Jones  to  Charles.  "  I  am  glad  to 
hear  we  are  to  sail  soon;  it's  cursed  dull  here,  and  I 
long  for  a  little  life.  You  are  accustomed  to  arms,  I  sup- 
pose ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  have  commanded  a  company  in  Virginia,  and 
hope  to  .please  your  general." 

"  You  Avill  easily  do  so,  if  you  only  try  to  deserve 
his  favor.  Wolfe  is  strict,  but  he  has  an  eagle  eye  for 
merit ;  he  will  pardon  faults,  but  has  no  patience  with 
carelessness." 

Wolfe,  as  good  as  his  word,  sent  for  Charles  at  the 
proper  time,  and  placing  a  musket  in  his  hands  exercised 
him  for  half  an  hour  closely  and  critically. 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  he  said,  at  length,  "  that  will  do ;  I 


216    BRANDON  ;  OR,  A  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 

see  I  was  not  wrong  in  my  first  impression  of  you.  A 
little  gunpowder  will  soon  make  you  a  soldier.  You  are 
at  liberty  now,  sir,  until  four  o'clock;  at  that  hour  I  dine, 
and  you  will  join  me,"  he  added,  kindly. 

Charles,  greatly  relieved,  strolled  about  the  camp  until 
it  was  time  to  make  his  toilet,  joining  his  general  and  one 
or  two  other  officers  at  the  hour  named. 

"  You  are  punctual,  Mr.  Brandon,  I  see.  Right,  right 
sir,  always  mind  the  minutes." 

They  sat  down  to  dinner,  and  little  was  said  about  war 
or  the  expedition  before  them.  On  the  contrary  Wolfe 
banished  these  from  the  gayety  of  the  feast ;  he  led  the 
conversation  to  topics  of  literature,  society,  and  the  fine 
arts,  enlivened  it  with  piquant  anecdotes,  recollections  of 
European  celebrities,  and  with  happy  tact  saw  that  each 
guest  was  drawn  out  in  turn,  and  made  to  contribute  to  the 
entertainment  of  the  rest.  One  very  old  colonel,  a  veteran 
in  the  service — dry  as  a  chip — who  knew  nothing  but  his 
profession,  was  indulged  for  the  thousandth  time  with  his 
recital  of  Marlborough's  victory  at  Malplaquet,  at  which 
the  colonel  had  fought  fifty  years  before,  and  had  bored 
the  mess  table  with  it  ever  since.  And  another,  a  younger 
major,  who  never  having  read  a  book  in  his  life,  had  been 
forced  to  look,  during  a  literary  disquisition,  as  if  he  un- 
derstood it  all,  though  he  was  in  terror  lest  he  should  be 
mischievously  questioned  by  Wolfe,  now  had  a  chance  of 
displaying  also ;  when  he  told  of  the  sport  he  had  the  day 
before  with  his  gun,  and  being  a  capital  shot  had  brought 
down  with  one  barrel  the  brace  of  wild  fowl  smoking  on 
the  table  before  him.  Charles  Brandon's  finished  educa- 
tion and  good  manners,  soon  won  a  place  for  him  in  the 
regards  of  those  present,  even  with  the  old  colonel,  who 
at  first  had  looked  upon  him  with  the  most  profound  in- 
difference. Wolfe  was  perfectly  familiar  with  the  state 


A  "HERO  IN  HISTORY."  217 

of  the  country  and  its  history ;  and  the  subject  of  Brad- 
dock's  defeat,  being  mentioned,  he  asked  Charles  if  he 
had  ever  seen  Colonel  Washington.  Charles  replied, 
that  he  knew  Washington  well. 

u  Ah ! "  said  Wolfe,  "  he  is  a  great  and  rising  soldier. 
I  should  like  to  meet  him  and  fight  by  his  side.  It 
is  shameful  that  merit,  such  as  his,  should  now  be  neg- 
lected by  those  in  authority,  especially  since  his  brilliant 
triumphs  at  Fort  Duquesne,  now  called  Pittsburgh,  in 
honor  of  our  prime  minister.  I  hope  to  meet  him  some 
day,  and  that  too  before  we.  conquer  all  the  Canadas. 
He  was,  I  understand,  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight  under 
Braddock,  and  yet  marvellously  escaped  unhurt." 

"  Yes  sir,  he  was,"  said  Charles ;  "  and  one  old  Indian, 
who  seldom  missed  his  aim,  reports  having  had  seventeen 
direct  fires  at  him  with  his  rifle,  without  being  able  to  hit 
him." 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed  the  old  colonel,  "that  is  aston- 
ishing ;  if  he  had  been  at  Malplaquet,  he  would  have  been 
killed.  Did  I  ever  tell  you,  General  Wolfe,  how  Marl- 
borough  and  Prince  Eugene,  just  as  the  Pretender  made 
his  last  charge  at  the  head  of  the  French  cavalry,  he 
said" 

"Now,  colonel,"  Wolfe  gaily  interrupted,  anxious  to 
avoid  an  endless  story,  for  he  caught  the  despairing  look 
of  the  sporting  major;  "don't  let  us  fight  Malplaquet 
over  again.  You  beat  the  French  there,  roundly ;  this 
time  reserve  your  forces  for  them  until  we  reach  Quebec, 
then  give  it  to  them.  Now,  fill  your  glass,  and  you  too, 
major,  and  Mr.  Brandon ;  let  us  drink  to  the  health  of 
the  gallant  Colonel  Washington." 


10 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

QUEBEC. 

IT  was  June,  1759,  and  the  British  army,  consisting  of 
about  eight  thousand  men,  including  two  battalions  of 
"Royal  Americans,"  set  sail  from  Louisburg;  the  fleet 
which  bore  them,  comprising  twenty-two  ships  of  the 
line,  and  about  as  many  smaller  vessels,  being  commanded 
by  Admiral  Saunders. 

Many  distinguished  naval  and  military  officers,  besides 
Wolfe,  made  part  of  the  force.  In  command  of  one  of 
the  frigates  was  John  Jervis,  then  but  twenty-five  years 
of  age,  celebrated  afterwards  as  Earl  of  St.  Vincent,  one 
of  the  greatest  of  England's  naval  heroes,  second  proba- 
bly only  to  Lord  Nelson.  There  was  Cook,  of  daring 
genius,  thirsting  now  for  renown  which  he  was  destined 
subsequently  to  gain  as  the  persevering  navigator ;  like 
another  Columbus,  to  sail  unknown  oceans,  and  tell  of  ro- 
mantic islands  never  before  visited  by  the  pale  faced  stran- 
ger. Among  the  army  officers  was  the  gallant  Richard 
Montgomery,  whose  glory  is  inseparably  linked  with 
Quebec,  for  whining  his  early  laurels  at  its  capture  ;  he 
fell  before  its  walls  sixteen  years  later,  when  having 
joined  the  American  cause,  he  attacked  the  fortress  in 
connection  with  the  traitor  Benedict  Arnold.  The  three 
distinguished  brigadiers,  the  immediate  seconds  of  Wolfe, 
were  Murray,  Townshend,  and  Monckton,  severally  sons 
of  nobles;  the  last  named,  in  after  years,  the  noble 
hearted  and  beloved  Governor  of  New  York.  Here 
(218) 


QUEBEC.  219 

figured  also  Lieutenant  Colonel  Howe,  celebrated  in 
revolutionary  annals,  and  chief  in  command  of  the  British 
forces  at  the  evacuation  of  Boston. 

As  the  fleet  sailed  up  the  magnificent  St.  Lawrence,  its 
waters  reflecting  the  snowy  sails  of  fifty  ships  of  war, 
never  could  its  banks  have  beheld  a  spectacle  of  more 
imposing  grandeur.  The  mighty  annament  moved  on ; 
the  towering  bulwark  swarming  with  warriors,  their  faces 
lighted  with  stern  joy  at  the  coming  strife,  and  the  cannon 
ready  to  hurl  their  iron  showers  on  the  foe.  On  the  26th 
of  June,  the  great  fleet  came  to  anchor  at  the  Island  of 
Orleans,  before  the  devoted  Quebec. 

The  sun  shone  brilliantly  on  the  dark  giant  forms  of  the 
men-of-war ;  boats  were  plying  between  them,  and  strains 
of  martial  music  rose  from  bands  upon  their  decks ;  the 
light,  flashed  back  from  the  sentry's  muskets,  and  the 
rich  uniforms  of  the  officers;  tinged  by  the  clouds,  it 
spread  varied  glories  on  the  broad  bosom  of  the  river ;  it 
bathed  the  wooded  heights  with  colors  like  those  of  the 
autumnal  foliage ;  it  filled  the  streets  of  the  city,  lying  in 
fancied  security  beneath  the  inaccessible  cliff;  it  rested  on 
the  bastions  of  Cape  Diamond,  crested  by  the  citadel  and 
the  royal  ensign  of  France,  which  over  that  grand  theatre 
of  battle  waved  defiance  to  the  invader. 

Quebec,  now  rendered  almost  impregnable  by  the 
science  of  engineers,  is  formidable  by  nature,  as  surely 
marked  for  the  site  of  a  great  fortress  as  Gibraltar  or  the 
Moro  Castle. 

The  river  which  runs  before  it  forms  a  wide  basin, 
which,  four  hundred  miles  from  the  Atlantic,  might  float 
the  combined  navies  of  the  world.  At  the  north  and  east 
sides  of  the  rock  on  which  the  batteries  are  mounted,  the 
River  St.  Charles  mingles  with  the  St.  Lawrence,  and  thus 
the  Heights  assume  the  shape  of  a  peninsula.  The  British 


220         BRANDON  ;    OR,    A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

army  at  once  disembarked,  and  encamped  on  the  Island 
of  Orleans,  opposite  to  the  city.  The  greater  part  of  the 
French  forces  under  command  of  Montcalm,  were  posted 
on  the  Heights  on  the  north  bank  of  the  stream,  their  en- 
campment stretching  along  the  shores  of  Beauport  to  the 
River  Montmorenci,  which,  nine  miles  below  the  city, 
"after  fretting  itself  a  whirlpool  route,  and  leaping  for  miles 
down  the  steps  of  a  rocky  bed,  rushes  with  velocity  to- 
ward the  ledge,  over  which,  falling  two  hundred  and  fifty 
feet,  it  pours  its  fleecy  cataract  into  the  chasm."* 

In  a  short  time,  Point  de  Levi,  opposite  to  the  city,  was 
seized  by  Monckton,  and  a  battery  erected  there  opened 
fire  upon  the  city ;  many  of  its  houses  in  the  lower  town 
were  injured  and  set  in  flames,  but  the  lofty  bastions  sus- 
tained no  damage.  Meanwhile,  the  fleet  was  twice 
menaced  with  destruction  ;  fireships  were  floated  down 
the  river  by  the  French,  but  with  cool  hardihood,  the 
sailors,  grappling  with  them,  towed  them  out  of  the  reach 
of  the  men-of-war,  then  left  them  to  bum  and  illumine, 
with  fearful  sublimity,  the  camps,  the  shipping,  and  the 
fortress.  On  the  9th  of  July,  Wolfe  changed  his  camp 
to  a  position  near  Montcalm's,  on  the  same  heights,  and 
only  separated  from  him  by  the  River  Montmorenci. 

But  it  seemed  to  be  impossible  to  approach  the  French 
general ;  the  torrent  between  the  two  armies  forbade  boats 
to  cross,  nor  could  it  be  forded ;  ceaseless  reconnoitering 
availed  nothing,  for  every  point  along  the  river  was  de- 
fended by  cannon,  and  watched  by  the  devoted  soldiers 
of  France.  Prepared  at  all  points,  Montcalm  was  con- 
tent to  act  on  the  defensive ;  he  knew  that  if  the  sum- 
mer went  by,  the  ships  could  not  remain  late  into  the 
autumn,  the  early  rigors  of  the  climate  would  compel 

*  Bancroft. 


QUEBEC.  221 

them  to  return  to  Louisburg,  and  the  expedition  result 
in  utter  failure. 

The  British  commander  knew  this  too,  and  it  made  him 
doubly  anxious  to  win  the  day  by  some  sudden  and  des- 
perate conflict.  His  anxiety  was  shared  by  the  whole 
army,  burning  to  redeem  their  long  repose ;  it  was  felt  by 
Charles  himself  to  the  last  degree,  for  his  mind  was  ill  at 
ease,  and  he  looked  forward  impatiently  to  action.  His 
thoughts  were  gloomy,  for  he  was  far  from  all  his  friends, 
uncertain  of  the  fate  of  his  beloved  Lucy,  and  uncheered 
by  a  word  of  intelligence  from  home.  The  scene  which 
otherwise  could  not  have  failed  to  please  him,  was  now 
unheeded  ;  the  martial  appearance  of  the  camp,  the  deep 
recesses  of  the  wood  which  bounded  it,  the  brawling 
river,  the  cataract  which  foamed  down  the  abyss,  in  the 
bright  moonlight  nights,  arrayed  with  a  beauty  far  beyond 
the  painter's  art,  ceased  to  charm. 

At  length,  Wolfe,  longing  for  an  opportunity  of  convert- 
ing the  dullness  of  inaction  into  open  battle,  had  submit- 
ted to  his  faithful  brigadiers  three  plans  of  attack,  too 
desperate  to  receive  their  approbation,  and  they  had  been 
abandoned.  But  before  these  were  projected,  another 
blow  had  been  attempted  without  success. 

According  to  the  plan  of  attack,  the  bed  of  the  Mont- 
morenci  was  to  be  crossed  at  that  part  of  it  which  lies 
between  the  St.  Lawrence  and  the  foot  of  the  water-fall, 
where  a  ledge  of  rocks,  about  a  thousand  feet  in  extent, 
permits  a  passage  when  the  tide  is  low.  Monckton's  forces 
were  to  cross  from  Point  de  Levi,  and  join  the  regiments 
on  the  north  bank  of  the  river,  and  thus  combined,  scale 
the  Heights  and  attack  the  French.  The  signal  was  given, 
and  the  troops  came  over  in  boats,  but  before  these 
touched  the  shore,  they  struck  upon  some  hidden  rocks 
in  the  stream,  and  were  at  once  thrown  into  confusion. 


222         BRANDON  ;    OB,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

While  endeavoring  to  clear  their  boats,  Wolfe's  impetu- 
osity could  brook  no  delay,  and  with  thirteen  companies 
of  the  British  Grenadiers,  and  about  two  hundred  men 
from  the  second  battalion  of  "Royal  Americans,"  he 
judged  he  could  successfully  combat  the  enemy.  But 
observing  some  stir  in  the  French  camp,  he  ordered  his 
troops  to  form  upon  the  beach,  and  wait  until  joined 
by  the  other  regiments,  as  he  was  resolved,  if  possible, 
to  bring  the  foe  to  a  general  engagement.  But  the  sol- 
diers who  had  longed  so  impatiently  for  action,  now,  re- 
gardless of  danger,  could  not  be  restrained,  and  dashing 
forward  with  wild  huzzas,  instantly  rushed  upon  the 
French  entrenchments.  Brandon,  at  the  head  of  his  com- 
pany, carried  away  by  the  enthusiasm  of  the  moment, 
stayed  not  for  orders,  but  cheering  on  his  men,  cried, 
"  Forward,  my  brave  boys."  But  the  assault  was  met  by 
such  a  steady  and  murderous  fire,  that  in  a  moment  he 
saw  his  men  dropping  around  him  like  autumn  leaves ;  it 
was  vain  to  withstand  such  an  iron  shower  from  an  enemy 
taking  cool,  deliberate  aim  in  safety  behind  their  defence, 
and  the  word  was  reluctantly  given  to  retreat  to  a  redoubt 
which  had  been  abandoned  by  the  enemy  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  attack.  Here  the  troops  were  still 
exposed  to  a  raking  fire ;  and  while  the  cannon  pealed 
forth  their  thunders,  a  terrific  storm,  which  had  been 
gathering  for  some  hours,  burst  in  fury,  and  the  roar  of 
ordnance  was  answered  by  the  artillery  of  heaven.  Wolfe 
now  made  haste  to  withdraw  his  troops,  sending  those  of 
Monckton's  again  over  the  river,  and  retired  to  his  camp 
after  this  desperate  enterprise,  with  the  loss  of  five  hun- 
dred men.  The  impetuosity  of  the  troops  was  censured 
in  general  orders,  and  Charles  Brandon,  with  other  offi- 
cers, received  a  sharp  private  reprimand  for  rash  conduct. 
General  Murray  was  now  sent  with  a  detachment  of 


QUEBEC.  223 

twelve  hundred  men  far  above  the  city,  to  endeavor,  if 
possible,  to  open  a  communication  with  Amherst,  the 
commander-in-chief  in  the  region  of  Lake  Champlain ; 
and  though  he  did  not  succeed  in  doing  so,  the  army  was 
cheered  by  the  intelligence  learnt  from  a  party  of  French 
prisoners,  that  Crown  Point,  and  Ticonderoga,  had  been 
abandoned  by  the  enemy,  and  that  Fort  Niagara  had 
surrendered.  These  triumphs  amply  redeemed  the  dis- 
grace of  the  previous  year,  caused  by  the  pusillanimous 
Abercrombie. 

Amherst  was  now  daily  looked  for  to  combine  with 
the  army  before  Quebec ;  but  he  came  not,  and  Wolfe 
fell  sick  in  body  and  soul.  Wasted  with  fever,  feeling  his 
strength  leaving  him ;  the  prospect  of  dying  without  ac- 
complishing the  grand  object  of  his  hopes,  preyed  upon 
his  spirit,  and  tortured  him  with  the  gloomiest  fore- 
bodings. 

"  It  is  not  death  that  I  fear,"  he  said  to  Charles  Bran- 
don, on  one  occasion,  when  he  had  called  to  pay  his  re- 
spects to  his  general;  "I  have  often  braved  it  before. 
Several  times  have  I  felt  that  I  should  not  survive  this 
campaign ;  but  the  misery  of  dying  unsuccessful,  or  aban- 
doning the  expedition,  is  more  than  I  can  bear ;  knowing 
the  mighty  responsibility  that  devolves  upon  me,  and 
how  anxiously  the  ministry  and  people '  of  England  look 
for  glad  tidings." 

But  determined  that  neither  disappointment  nor  delay, 
nor  obstacles  of  the  most  formidable  nature,  should  over- 
come his  dauntless  spirit ;  once  more  Wolfe  arose,  and 
once  again  chose  to  decide  upon  desperate  measures ; 
which  his  genius  taught  _him  would  alone  serve  in  his 
emergency.  He  broke  up  his  camp  on  the  Heights  of 
Montmorenci ;  and  leaving  only  a  sufficiency  of  troops 
to  hold  the  posts  on  the  Island  of  Orleans,  and  on  the 


224        BRANDON  ;    OR,    A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

southern  bank  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  he  marched  "his  army 
from  Point  Levi  on  the  6th  of  September ;  and  then, 
placing  his  troops  in  transports,  landed  them  at  a  spot 
some  miles  above  the  city.  The  fleet  following  in  a  day 
or  two,  manoeuvered  with  a  view  to  deceive  the  enemy. 
But  Montcalm  was  a  thorough  adept  in  every  stratagem 
of  war,  and  he  despatched  fifteen  hundred  men  from  the 
main  camp,  to  a  point  several  miles  higher  up  the  river, 
to  watch  the  motions  of  the  English,  and  prevent  any  at- 
tempt upon  the  north  bank.  Cook  and  other  officers 
were  also  employed  in  the  work  of  feints ;  and  were  oc- 
cupied with  sounding  along  the  shores  of  Beauport,  and 
anchoring  buoys  in  the  stream. 

Meanwhile  Wolfe,  by  indefatigable  reconnoitering,  dis- 
covered, about  three  miles  above  Quebec,  a  spot  which 
he  deemed  available  for  landing.  The  river  at  this  point 
curving,  sweeps  a  narrow  ledge  or  beach,  between  it  and 
the  cliff;  and  the  general's  eagle  vision  soon  descried  a 
narrow  path  winding  up  a  precipitous  height.  There  he 
determined  that  his  army  should  land,  and  scale  the  bank 
in  the  night. 

It  was  a  bold  plan,  such  as  he  alone  could  have  the 
hardihood  to  persist  in,  and  which  would  never  have  re- 
ceived the  sanction  of  the  more  cautious- Amherst,  had 
he  been  present.  Every  thing  depended  on  secrecy, 
concert  in  action,  and  the  suddenness  of  the  blow. 

The  French  were  ever  on  the  alert,  the  magic  power 
of  union  held  them  all ;  a  devoted  spirit  of  patriotism 
was  kindled  alike  in  the  noble,  and  the  peasant ;  like  the 
old  chivalrous  tire  that  burned  in  every  heart,  and  lighted 
every  face,  when  in  ancient  days  the  call  to  battle  rang, 
and  "  the  great  and  holy  standard  of  France,"  the  "  ori- 
flamme,"  was  unfurled,  and  borne  before  its  warrior 


QUEBEC.  225 

Thus  the  two  armies  rested;  both  watching  for  the 
slightest  chance  of  success.  The  French,  full  of  hope,  of 
joy,  masters  of  a  powerful  stronghold ;  well  posted,  well 
supplied ;  confident  in  their  leader,  whose  abilities  were 
a  fair  match  for  his  great  antagonist ;  and  the  English, 
at  every  disadvantage ;  at  a  late  season  ;  but  thoroughly 
disciplined,  calm,  brave,  and  patient;  waiting  but  the 
word  from  the  general  they  adored,  to  rush  to  battle  and 
to  victory 

Our  friend,  Bela  Tilley,  with  his  large  share  of  curios- 
ity, took  a  keen  interest  in  every  thing,  as  may  be  readily 
imagined.  His  tall,  lank  figure,  and  prying,  inquisitive 
face,  made  him  a  conspicuous  mark,  and  it  was  impossible 
to  give  him  the  slightest  military  look.  He  was  a  jack- 
of-all-trades,  and  from  his  obliging  disposition,  he  became 
a  favorite  with  the  troops ;  ready  as  he  always  was,  to 
lend  a  helping  hand  to  any  work  or  sport. 

"  Well,  Bela,"  said  Charles  to  him  one  day,  "  how  do 
you  like  this  life  ?" 

"  Wai,  puty  much,  puty  much ;  it's  a  tolerable  pattern, 
only  wish  though  they'd  git  to  work ;  I'd  like  to  shoot 
an  Ingin."  r*>  •: 

"Why  so,  Bela?" 

"  Wai,  I  was  a  thinking  tother  night  I  mought  like  to 
make  some  money  by  it.  Yer  see,  arter  I'd  fout  him,  I'd 
kinder  like  to  take  him  captive ;  an  guess  ef  I  showed 
him  up  reound  abeout,  folks  'ud  be  glad  to  pay  a  shillin' 
a  piece  to  see  him  in  his  Ingin  dress.  I'd  make  him  dance, 
an  sing,  an  yell  out  onexpected  with  his  warwhoop ;  an 
then,  likely,  they'd  pay  another  shillin'  to  hear  him  over 
again,  in  case  they  war'nt  skeered  right  dead  the  fust 
time  by  his  hollerin'.  What  du  yer  think  on't  ?" 

"  An  ingenious  plan,  truly,  and  one  that  will  be  sure 
10* 


226         BRANDON  :    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

to  succeed,  if  you  can  only  take  him  alive.  But  Indians 
are  very  slippery  fellows,  and  hard  to  catch,  Bela." 

"  Know  they  be.  Guess  I'll  doze  him  with  several  shot 
fust,  an  then  nooze  him.  Calculate  neow,  ef  I  got  him 
deown  to  Rud  Island,  he'd  make  my  fortin  right  eout. 
Show  him  up  a  spell,  an  then  trade  him  off  for  a  small 
farm,  I  will.  Dun  know  how  'tis,"  pursued  Bela,  medi- 
tatively, "  never  took  a  likin'  to  Ingins,  no  how ;  fust 
time  I  ever  see  'em.  Can't  go  'em.  Some  things  I  du 
a-bom-i-nate  ;  an  among  'em  is  snakes,  skeeters,  niggers, 
an  Ingins."  Changing  the  subject  of  his  remarks  sud- 
denly :  "  Gineral  Wolfe  aint  to  be  caught  nappin' ;  tell 
yer  what,  he's  a  kind  er  snorter.  'Twant  long  back  when 
I  heered  he  was  sick,  and  could'nt  more  nor  look  at  his 
vittles ;  when  the  fust  thing  I  knowed  on,  I  seed  hisself 
a  canterin  aleong  like  mad,  in  all  sorts  er  places. 

"Tall  horse,  that  o'  yourn,  gineral,"  ses  I. 

" «  Who  the  devil  are  you  ?'  ses  he." 

" '  Bela  Tilley,'  ses  I,  '  friend  of  a  friend  o'  yourn,  Mr. 
Brandon.' " 

" '  What  are  you  doin'  here  ?'  ses  he." 

"  '  Jest  a  practisn  with  my  rifle,'  ses  I.  '  I'll  shoot 
Gineral  Mountcalam  Tor  you,  gineral,'  ses  I,  *  ef  you'll 
only  pint  him  out.'  With  that  he  did'nt  say  nothin', 
only  kinder  snickered,  and  chucked  me  this  yer  gould 
piece,"  said  Bela,  producing  the  coin.  "  Calculate  tho' 
he  feels  kinder  ris  about  Mountcalam." 

"  Montcalm !  Montcalm !  how  often  have  I  told  you 
how  to  pronounce  the  French  general's  name." 

"  Wall,  neow,  Mister  Charles,  faint  no  use  in  yer 
tellin'  me  over  agin,  seein'  I  never  could  speak  my  own 
Rud  Island  extra-ordinary  correct  nohow,  'and  it  doos 
actooally  make  me  ex-pec-to-rate  every  time  I  try  to 
say  the  name  ev  one  ev  them  ere  French  mounseers." 


QUEBEC.  227 

"  No  matter,  then,  we  attack  the  French  to-night ; 
take  care  of  yourself,  and  keep  out  of  harm's  way.  If  I 
am  killed,  you  must  find  your  way  back  to  Virginia,  and 
tell  them  how  I  fell." 

Bela  promised,  and  -as  he  walked  off,  revolving  the 
chances  of  his  master's  fate,  he  wiped  away  a  few  honest 
tears  from  his  lank  cheeks,  with  the  cuff  of  his  coat  sleeve. 

The  night  of  the  12th  of  September,  1759,  was  fixed 
for  the  attack.  The  day  and  evening  were  actively  spent 
in  making  ready  for  the  important  move,  and  every  pre- 
caution was  taken  to  keep  from  the  enemy  the  slightest 
intimation  of  the  design.  The  night  was  still  and  clear  ; 
the  stars  studded  the  heavens  in  unclouded  glory,  and 
were  reflected  on  the  bosom  of  the  tranquil  river.  Wolfe 
went  from  ship  to  ship,  animating  and  cheering  the  troops 
for  the  last  time,  and  found  them  to  a  man  longing  for 
distinction,  and  imbued  with  the  same  spirit  which  swayed 
the  whole  being  of  their  general.  It  was  an  hour  past 
midnight  when  the  troops  embarked  in  flat-bottomed 
boats,  floated  down  with  the  current  of  the  river.  Abso- 
lute silence,  under  pain  of  death,  was  imposed  upon  the 
men.  They  were  to  keep  near  the  north  shore,  for  fear 
of  passing  the  little  cove  in  the  darkness,  but  there  was 
imminent  danger  of  being  descried  by  the  enemy's 
sentinels  ;  in  truth  one  boat  was  challenged,  but  a  Scotch 
oificer,  in  command  of  it,  with  admirable  presence  of 
mind,  at  once  answered,  in  French,  that  they  were  friends 
on  the  watch  for  the  movements  of  the  English,  and  the 
sentry's  suspicions  were  disarmed. 

As  Wolfe  floated  down  in  his  boat,  Charles  Brandon, 
who  had  been  so  honored  as  to  be  chosen  of  his  party, 
was  cheered,  for  the  last  time,  with  some  of  that  delight- 
ful conversation  which  made  his  commander  so  charming, 
as  with  whispered  voice,  he  spoke  of  Europe,  its  pleasures, 


228         BRANDON  ;    OB,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

and  the  honors  awaiting  their  success.  The  serene  beauty 
of  the  night  appeared  to  draw  his  thoughts  towards 
poetry,  when,  asking  if  they  had  read  the  "  Elegy  in  a 
Country  Churchyard,"  which  the  genius  of  Gray  had 
just  given  to  the  world,  he  repeated,  with  melting 
pathos,  the  greater  part  of  it,  reciting  more  than  once, 
with  emphasis,  the  stanza — 

"  Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 

Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire  ; 
Hands  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  swayed, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre." 

and  again — 

"For  who  to  dumb  forgetfulness  a  prey, 

This  pleasing,  anxious  being  we  resigned, 
Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  oheerful  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind  ?  " 

He  closed  with  a  short  panegyric  on  the  Elegy,  saying, 
"  Now,  gentlemen,  I  would  rather  be  the  author  of  that 
poem  than  take  Quebec." 

The  profound  silence  which  followed,  proved  how  com- 
pletely his  officers  were  penetrated  by  the  exquisite 
verse,  what  recollections  of  home  it  called  up  to  some  who 
should  know  earthly  homes  no  more,  and  who  were  now 
taking  their  "  longing,  lingering  look,"  with  eyes  which 
to-morrow's  sun  should  see  struck  blind  in  death  on  the 
battle  field ;  and  the  stillness  was  unbroken  until  the 
barge  grated  upon  the  destined  beach. 

Wolfe  and  his  troops  left  the  boats,  and  at  once  began 
to  climb  the  heights  by  the  narrow  pass.  Some  parties  had 
drifted  in  the  darkness  a  little  below  the  proper  landing- 
place,  and  these,  without  a  footpath  to  mark  their  way,  rose 
from  crag  to  crag,  and,  clinging  to  the  buflhes  which  grew 


QUEBEC.  229 

thick  upon  the  steep,  dragged  their  comrades  below  them 
to  their  own  position,  and  thus,  aiding  each  other,  gained 
the  summit  without  the  loss  of  a  man.  The  pickets 
posted  upon  the  heights  were  driven  in,  and,  after  a  slight 
skirmish,  a  four  gun  battery,  to  the  left  of  the  English 
army,  was  taken  possession  of  by  Lieutenant-colonel 
Howe.  Flushed  with  their  success,  the  troops  emerged 
from  their  forests ;  the  roads  to  Quebec  were  already 
their  own,  and  when  the  morning  dawned,  in  front  of  the 
devoted  city  stood  Wolfe  and  his  irresistible  battalions, 
drawn  out  in  array  of  war  on  the  Plains  of  Abraham. 

The  surprise  of  the  French  was  great  indeed  when  they 
first  learnt  of  this  extraordinary  achievement.  "  Impos- 
sible ! "  said  Montcalm,  "  it  cannot  be  the  English  army, 
'tis  but  some  party  of  marauders,  come  to  burn  houses 
and  run  away."  But  a  second  message  came  with  evil 
tidings  and  more  authentic  information.  "  Then  we  must 
at  once  give  battle,"  said  the  intrepid  general,  "  and  de- 
stroy them  at  a  blow." 

Never  had  the  inhabitants  of  any  city  been  more  com- 
pletely betrayed  by  a  confidence  in  safety  than  those  of 
Quebec ;  they  had  looked  upon  the  expedition  as  well 
nigh  abandoned.  The  night  before  there  had  been  joy 
in  the  city ;  the  feast  was  spread,  and  the  wine-cup 
sparkled  ;  the  dance  was  enjoyed  by  lovely  women,  and 
the  wearied  lay  down  to  happy  slumbers.  Then  stealthi- 
ly the  foe  came  on,  and  the  dreamers  started  from 
their  pillows  in  terror,  as  the  bugle  call  rang  harsh  on 
their  ears,  followed  by  the  dread  summons,  "  To  arms ! 
to  arms ! " 

The  sun  arose  to  illume  with  splendor  a  scene  always 
grand  by  nature,  and  now  rendered  still  more  imposing 
by  the  circumstances  of  the  hour.  Far  below  the  Heights, 
wound  the  majestic  St.  Lawrence,  bearing  upon  its  sur- 


230         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

face  the  enormous  fleet  which  more  than  two  months 
before  had  cast  anchor  in  its  waters,  and  which  now  lay 
silent,  but  prepared  to  cover  the  troops  in  case  of  a  retreat. 
To  the  east,  beyond  the  plain  appeared  the  heavy  ram- 
parts of  the  citadel,  the  prize  at  last  in  sight,  and  not  now 
inaccessible ;  while  to  the  far  horizon,  the  hills  and 
waters,  checkered  by  the  French  hamlets  and  by  distant 
sail,  glistened  in  the  morning  light.  No  thought  of  re- 
treat, no  sense  of  danger,  was  apprehended  by  that  gal- 
lant little  army,  which  had  toiled  at  night,  while  others 
slept ;  they  felt  a  deep  thrill  of  joy,  and  a  wild  burst  of 
ardor  pealed  from  their  ranks  as  the  rays  of  the  sun  rose 
on  their  front,  and  here  fell  on  the  scarlet  uniforms  of  the 
grenadiers,  and  again  on  the  tossing  plumes  and  rich 
tartans  of  the  Scotch  Highlanders,  while  the  inspiring 
martial  music  of  the  bands  sounded  triumphant,  as  though 
victory  was  already  won. 

The  English  army,  about  five  thousand  strong,  was 
thus  drawn  out  in  battle  array :  On  the  left,  Brigadier 
General  Townshend,  with  Amherst's  regiment,  to  counter- 
act a  movement  of  M  outcalm's,  who  endeavored  to  flank 
the  British,  and  drive  them  to  the  river.  These  light 
infantry  troops  were  shortly  joined  by  the  "Royal 
Americans,"  among  whom  Charles  Brandon  found  him- 
self, well  pleased  with  the  spirit  of  his  men,  anticipating 
a  glorious  contest.  The  fiery  Murray  occupied  the 
centre,  where  stood  the  Highlanders.  Monckton  rested 
on  the  right,  with  the  Louisburg  grenadiers,  and  immedi- 
ately in  his  rear  was  a  reserve  of  Webb's.  Wolfe,  at  the 
commencement  of  the  action,  occupied  a  position  near  the 
centre. 

Opposed  to  this  force,  the  French  army  stretched  in  a 
long  line,  and  on  its  right  were  assembled  the  citizens 
of  Quebec,  ready  to  shed  their  blood  in  defence  of  th<-ir 


QUEBEC.  231 

beloved  city,  and  these  were  joined  by  a  small  force  of 
Indian  allies. 

A  cannonade  was  opened,  and  kept  up  for  some  time 
on  both  sides  with  little  effect,  when  Montcalm  decided 
on  closer  action.  His  troops,  though  equal  in  numbers  to 
the  enemy,  were  vastly  inferior  in  point  of  discipline. 
About  eleven  o'clock,  the  French  rushed  to  the  combat ; 
their  fire  was  scattering  and  ineffective  ;  they  had  diffi- 
culties of  ground  to  contend  with,  and  the  solid  English 
columns  waiting  by  Wolfe's  order  until  their  antagonists 
were  within  forty  yards,  poured  in  a  deadly  fire  which 
instantly  threw  them  into  confusion.  In  vain  their  heroic 
leader  flew  from  rank  to  rank,  animating  his  soldiers ; 
they  began  to  give  way,  when  Wolfe,  seizing  the  fortu- 
nate moment,  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  the  Louis- 
burg  Grenadiers,  charged  with  terrible  fury,  and  in  a 
moment  the  enemy  broke,  they  retreated.  Wolfe,  twice 
wounded,  still  pressed  on  ;  a  third  bullet  struck  him  in 
the  chest ;  he  felt  that  his  wound  was  mortal. 

"  Let  not  my  gallant  fellows  see  me  fall,"  he  said  to  an 
officer  by  him  ;  "  support  me." 

He  was  carried  to  the  rear ;  his  life-blood  oozed  away, 
his  brain  reeled,  he  was  roused  for  an  instant  from  his 
stupor  by  the  exclamation,  "  They  run  !"  "  Who  run  ?" 
he  feebly  asked.  "  The  French !"  was  the  answer. 
"  Then,  thank  God,  I  die  happy,"  murmured  the  hero, 
and  all  that  was  mortal  of  James  Wolfe  lay  stretched 
upon  the  plain. 

The  victorious  troops  rushed  on ;  Charles  Brandon 
sword  in  hand  ignorant  of  the  death  of  his  general,  was 
charging  at  the  head  of  his  company,  when  he  was  seen 
to  stagger  and  fall ;  he  was  shot  down  dreadfully  wound- 
ed, the  tide  of  battle  rolled  over  him,  the  day  was  won. 
On  the  17th  of  September,  four  days  after  the  engage- 


232         BRANDON  ;    OR,    A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

ment,  the  brilliant  Montcalm  meanwhile  dying  of  his 
wounds,  and  spared  the  misery  of  beholding  the  surren- 
der of  Quebec,  the  proud  standard  of  France  floated  for 
the  last  time  from  the  citadel,  and  the  morrow's  sun  rose 
on  a  western  empire,  whose  ensign  was  the  banner  of  St. 
George. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

A   DOUBLE   CAPTUBE. 

EVER  since  the  "  Paper  Tiger  "  had  so  unwillingly  paid 
out  five  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  he  had  been  a  most 
miserable  annual.  He  likened  himself  unto  that  man  who 
went  down  to  Jericho  and  fell  among  thieves,  and  he 
sighed  in  vain  for  some  good  Samaritan.  He  was  disap- 
pointed in  all  his  calculations.  He  had  determined  not 
to  give  Mildred  the  will,  unless  she  repaid  him,  but  now 
he  was  not  allowed  to  approach  her.  As  for  the  smug- 
gler, he  had  thought  five  minutes  of  scuffle  would  suffice 
to  settle  him  for  this  world,  and  the  fifty  pounds  would 
be  restored  and  quadrupled  by  the  reward  offered  for 
him  ;  but  he  had  escaped,  and  Elisha  was  sick  at  heart. 
It  was  evident  that  the  world  had  not  gone  "  all  right " 
with  Mr.  Barlow ;  that  pleasant  smirk  of  self-satisfaction, 
and  slick  tip-toe  tread  which  bore  him  around  so  softly 
were  gone ;  his  forehead  was  wrinkled  with  anxiety ;  his 
snuffing  of  the  air  was  more  frequent ;  and  the  snapping 
of  his  nails  between  his  teeth  more  violent  than  ever  be- 
fore. The  sense  of  large  pecuniary  loss  preyed  upon  his 
avaricious  nature,  and  to  add  to  his  distress  several  small 
traders  who  owed  him  sums  of  money  and  goods  gave 
him  the  slip,  and  disappeared  at  the  very  moment  when 
he  was  about  to  pounce  upon  them  and  congratulate  him- 
self for  his  vigilant  foresight. 

Turn  where  he  would,  trouble  seemed  to  menace  him ; 
there  was  Mildred  with  his  five  hundred  pounds,  and 
to  regain  them  he  could  have  murdered  her  with 

(233) 


234         BRANDON  ;    OB,    A   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

good  will ;  but  at  that  thought  the  stern  figure  of  Mr. 
Castlemain  came  up  in  his  imagination,  rope  in  hand, 
either  to  belabor  him  soundly,  or  put  a  noose  around  his 
neck,  he  could  scarce  tell  which.  Conversations  with 
Castlemain  had  made  him  quake  ;  indeed  that  gentleman 
had  informed  him  that  he  was  more  than  suspected  of 
dealing  with  smugglers,  and  that  any  proof  of  his  hav- 
ing done  so  would  be  followed  by  summary  punishment. 
Elisha  only  wriggled  out  of  the  lawyer's  cross-examina- 
tion by  numberless  lies,  so  adroit  that  they  almost  de- 
ceived even  the  questioner  himself.  If  the  trader  thought 
of  Ralph  and  his  gang,  he  shuddered  at  the  idea  of  fulling 
into  their  hands.  Even  in  his  dreams,  his  money  bags 
appeared  to  be  capering  for  joy  at  having  escaped  the 
clutches  of  such  a  mean  rascal ;  large  cargoes  of  rum  and 
sugar  melted  away  and  left  him  nothing  but  empty  hogs- 
heads ;  while  even  his  niggers  seemed  to  have  broken  the 
bondage  of  the  slave-ship,  and  were  careering  about  in 
mid  ocean,  bound  on  pleasure  voyages  and  not  for  the 
Brazils.  His  relations  at  home,  too,  with  Mrs.  Barlow, 
were  no  longer  pleasant ;  she  dropped  hints  that  made 
his  hair  stand  on  end,  and  his  meal  times  were  hours  of 
torture.  "Drat  that  are  lawyer,  and  Janey,  and  Missis 
Estcourt ;  drat  everythink  and  everybody,"  soliloqui/ed 
Elisha ;  "  to  think  now  of  losing  my  character  in  this 
'ere  way,  it's  been  worth  at  least  two  hundred  pound  to 
me  since  I've  been  here.  Reckon,  next  think,  they'll 
take  away  the  collection  plate  from  me  on  Sundays!" 
At  last  the  trader  smiled  again,  his  brow  relaxed,  a 
plan  had  struck  him,  and  he  was  as  cheerful  as  ever. 
His  neighbor  Tilley  saw  and  spoke  of  the  change.  "  AVal.': 
said  Elishn,  "at  first  I  did  feel  rather  bothered  at  them  men 
runnin  off  and  not  payin'  me,  but  after  all  I've  made  up  my 
mind  not  to  worry  at  it  for  myself,  but  only  for  them,  it'b 


A   DOUBLE   CAPTURE.  235 

their  loss,  the  loss  of  their  souls,  for  if  there  is  any  think  I 
do  find  comfortin',  its  honesty.  Honesty,  neighbor  Tilley, 
always  bear  that  in  mind."  "Sound  doctrine,"  said 
neighbor  Tilley.  But  very  shortly  after  this  conversation, 
neighbor  Tilley  himself  had  reason  to  experience  the 
worth  of  Elisha's  honesty,  and  the  exposure  his  fraud  met 
with  was  precipitated  by  the  redoubtable  Mrs.  Morpus. 

We  have  already  spoken  of  the  wholesome  terror 
with  which  that  lady  had  inspired  Elisha ;  if  he  beheld 
afar  off  the  corpulent  umbrella,  or  the  breezes  ever  so 
lightly  stirred  the  plumes  of  the  Hectorian  helmet,  and 
he  thought  he  should  meet  her,  the  valiant  trader  pre- 
pared for  a  scamper.  Why  ?  He  had  once  cheated  her 
out  of  a  sixpence,  and  in  consequence  her  wrath  against 
him  burned  unceasing. 

But  to  the  business  transaction  in  which  Barlow  bun- 
gled. A  man  named  Cranston  owed  him  some  money, 
and  was  rather  pressed  for  means.  Cranston  had  often 
had  dealings  with  neighbor  Tilley  and  held  notes  of  his, 
all  of  which  Tilley  had  paid,  excepting  only  a  small 
balance ;  but  he  had  neglected  to  take  away  these  notes 
as  he  cashed  them. 

The  "  Paper  Tiger,"  always  prowling  about,  found  out 
that  Cranston  still  held  these  notes,  and  as  he  was  not 
very  likely  to  pay  what  he  owed  him  shortly,  he  deter- 
mined to  make  his  money  in  another  way,  if  he  could. 
He  accordingly  called  upon  neighbor  Tilley,  with  all  his 
plans  arranged  for  action.  His  smile  was  more  bland 
than  usual. 

"  Neighbor  Tilley,  I  jest  called  to  ask  if  you  would'nt 
as  lief  pay  them  are  notes  you  owes  Cranston,  to  me  as 
to  him." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Barlow,  but  I  do  not  owe  the  money  for 
the  notes." 


236         BRANDON  ;    OB,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  docs,  sir.  Come  now,  honesty,  neighbor 
Tilley ;  and  the  notes  is  all  in  my  hands ;  and  if  you 
does'nt  pay  'em,  I  shall  have  to  sell  your  house,  onpleas- 
ant  as  that  would  be  to  me." 

Tilley  was  alarmed.  He  knew  that  he  had  paid  nearly 
all  that  was  due  on  the  notes,  but  he  did  not  hold  them 
to  show  that  he  had ;  and  he  was  confounded  that  Cran- 
ston should  have  passed  them  over  to  Barlow. 

The  Tiger,  seeing  that  Tilley  was  frightened,  said  to 
him,  "  I  will  come  day  after  tomorrow,  and  we  will  talk 
thinks  over  with  your  wife.  Lem,  me  see,  day  after  to- 
morrow's Sunday;  we  can  fix  it  all  right  afore  church 
time.  I  allers  likes  to  git  these  ere  little  matters  off  my 
mind,  and  go  clean-handed  into  the  sanctyerry." 

Neighbor  Tilley  went  home  very  desponding ;  but  for- 
tunately, his  wife  possessed  that  common  sense  which  he 
wanted ;  and  was,  moreover,  a  sister  of  Mrs.  Morpus. 

"  Have  you  taxed  Cranston  with  his  conduct,  husband?" 

"  No,  houey,  he's  gone  out  of  town." 

"  He  is  an  honest  man,  I  know ;  and  we  will  learn  the 
truth  when  he  conies  back  to-morrow.  Leave  matters 
to  me  and  my  sister." 

Mrs.  Morpus  and  Mrs.  Tilley  accordingly  waited  on 
Cranston,  when  he  returned.  He  was  astounded  at  Eli- 
sha's  villainy.  He  showed  the  notes,  and  handed  them 
to  Mrs.  Morpus. 

"  I  will  go  this  moment,  and  expose  him,"  he  said. 

"Stop,"  said  Mrs.  Morpus,  thumping  the  floor  vio- 
lently, with  the  fat  umbrella ;  "  come  to  my  sister's  house 
on  Sunday  morning.  We  will  then  expose  him  thor- 
oughly." 

Sunday  morning  came;  and  Elisha,  in  high  spirits, 
tripped  along  with  the  vivacity  of  a  young  kitten,  to  the 
appointed  meeting.  That  pleasant  smile  mantled  his  fea- 


A    DOUBLE   CAPTURE.  237 

tures,  as  he  thought  that  hi  an  hour's  time,  this  little 
business  matter  would  be  "  all  right,"  and  he  would  be 
entering  the  church  to  give  thanks.  He  had  even  re- 
solved to  contribute  a  double  portion  to  the  collection 
that  day ;  he  would  give  five  shillings. 

He  entered  the  house,  and  Mrs.  Tilley  received  him. 
In  a  few  amiable  words  he  informed  her  that  he  had  the 
notes  of  her  husband,  and  had  "jest  called  to  have  that 
little  matter  fixed  up."  Mrs.  Tilley  steadily  regarded 
him: 

"  And  you  say  you  have  those  notes  in  your  posses- 
sion ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  has  them  are  notes." 

At  this  moment  a  shadow  darkened  the  threshold,  and 
Elislia,  to  his  terror,  beheld  Mrs.  Morpus.  The  plumed 
crest  waved  fiercely,  and  the  green  umbrella  was  wielded 
like  the  baton  of  a  field  marshal. 

"  Elisha  Barlow,"  said  she,  bringing  the  weapon  clown 
with  a  tremendous  thump  near  his  toes,  "do  not  you 
dare  go  to  the  house  of  God  to-day.  I  have  been  sitting 
on  mybel-cony,  to  watch  for  your  coming  here,  knowing 
for  what  your  errand  was  des-tined.  See  these  notes  in 
my  possession,  you  wretched  hypocrite." 

The  Paper  Tiger  looked,  and  turned  pale ;  he  trembled. 
At  this  moment  there  was  a  loud  knock  at  the  front  door. 

"  Mother,"  called  out  a  little  girl,  "  here's  father  come, 
and  neighbor  Cranston." 

"  Show  them  up,"  thundered  Mrs.  Morpus. 

"  Don't,  ah  don't  let  them  come  up  here,"  cried  Elisha, 
in  wild  distress. 

"They  shall  come,  sir,  and  you  shall  confront  them 
with  a  lie  in  your  mouth." 

Elisha  darted  for  the  back  window ;  it  overlooked  the 
garden,  and  was  but  a  few  feet  from  the  ground.  The 


238         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

hooked  beak  of  the  green  umbrella  was  stretched  out  to 
catch  him  by  the  coat  collar ;  but  Mrs.  Morpus'  alacrity 
could  not  equal  his ;  he  threw  himself  out,  kicked  up  a 
dust  as  he  alighted,  ran  over  the  pumpkin  patch,  dashed 
across  the  inclosure,  scaled  the  fence,  and  was  out  of  sight 
in  a  twinkling ;  his  appearance  as  he  scampered  off,  being 
very  much  like  that  of  a  felonious  tomcat,  hurriedly 
chased  from  neighbor  Tilley's  premises. 

Elisha  did  not  go  to  church  that  day,  and  saved  five 
shillings.  Mrs.  Morpus  strode  up  the  middle  aisle  of 
Trinity  with  the  air  of  a  conqueror.  And  after  service, 
Mr.  Castlemain  enjoyed  a  hearty  laugh  as  she  narrated 
the  adventure. 

Barlow  now  soon  decided  that  he  must  quit  Newport. 
He  could  play  the  hypocrite  no  longer.  Having  matured 
his  plan,  therefore,  "  studied  over  it,"  as  he  would  ex- 
press it,  he  thought  fit  to  disclose  it  to  Mrs.  Barlow. 
She  listened  with  delight,  as  she  anticipated  another  story 
to  relate  to  Cnstlemain ;  who,  considering  her  now  regu- 
larly in'the  service  of  the  government,  paid  her  for  infor- 
mation. He  did  not  as  yet  deem  Elisha's  guilt  so  thor- 
oughly established,  as  to  warrant  his  taking  him  into  cus- 
tody ;  and  not  having  full  confidence  in  Jane,  accepted 
her  revelations  respecting  his  doings  with  some  grains  of 
allowance. 

Assuming  his  most  benevolent  smile,  the  Paper  Tiger 
drew  his  chair  close  to  Mrs.  Barlow,  and  said,  "  Janey 
dear,  I  is  a  goin'  to  tell  you  of  somethink  now  for  your 
and  my  good;  for  you  know  how  much  I  loves  you,  jest 
as  much  as  you  does  me." 

"  Janey  dear,"  listened ;  but  if  the  love  she  had  for 
Elisha  was  expressed  by  her  eyes,  one  might  read  murder 
in  them. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  abruptly,  "  what  do  you  want  now  ? 


A    DOUBLE   CAPTURE.  239 

speak  the  truth  for  once,  and  don't  tell  me  any  more 
falsehoods." 

"  Now,  Janey  dear,  what  makes  you  talk  that  are  way 
to  me ;  you  knows  every  think  I've  done  has  only  been 
for  our  good;  and  besides,  no  one's  ever  knowed  that 
you  aint  married  to  me ;  I've  only  delayed  for  the  best ; 
but  as  soon  as  I  gits  this  ere  matter  off  my  mind,  I'll 
make  it  all  right,  marry  you  at  wunst,  and  private  like, 
so  that  nobody  will  wonder  at  it.  Nobody  knows  it  now, 
no  how." 

"  Nobody  but  Mr.  Castlemain,"  said  Jane  quietly. 

"  Good  God,  Mr.  Castlemain !  I  wisht  that  are  man 
was  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  harbor  off  long  wharf, 
with  a  millstone  tied  round  his  neck.  He  is  the  plague 
of  my  life.  What  in  hell  did  you  tell  him  for  ?" 

"  Don't  swear,  saint,  the  vestry  might  hear  of  it,"  said 
Jane,  tauntingly. 

"  Why  Janey,  what's  got  into  you  ?  you  is  so  different 
from  what  you  used  to  be ;  now,  when  I'm  in  trouble,  it 
seems  kind  er  hard  I  can't  find  peace  and  quiet  even  in 
the  bosom  of  my  own  family." 

"  Your  family !  don't  imagine  that  I  belong  to  it." 

"Well,  Janey,  never  mind  then,  dear,  you  needn't 
if  you  does'nt  wish  to ;  but  as  I  was  a  sayin',  this  'ere 
Castlemain,  drat  him,  what  made  you  tell  him  you  wasn't 
my  wife?" 

"That  you  will  find  out,  by  and  by,  go  on  and  tell 
your  story,  quick,  and  don't  bother  me  with  your  whin- 
ing hypocrisy;  I'm  sick  of  it." 

"  I  doesn't  mean  to  deceive  you." 

"  You  had  better  not.     Proceed." 

"Well,  just  the  whole  of  the  matter  is,  we  must  be  off 
this  ere  island,  it's  a  gittin  too  hot  to  hold  us.  The  fact 
is,  I  is,  as  you  know,  too  much  tied  to  that  ere  Ralph,  to 


240         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

morc'n  hold  my  head  up  above  water.  Every  hour  I'm 
afraid  Castlemain  will  find  out  something  more,  and  be 
down  on  us.  And  oh,  Lord !  what  horrid  dreams  I  has 
now,  nights ;  if  I'm  hung  wunst  I'm  hung  twenty  times 
afore  moi-nin'.  Last  night  I  dreamed" 

"  Never  mind  your  dream ;  be  quick  and  tell  me  what 
your  plan  is." 

"  For  you  and  me  to  run  away  and  go  back  to  Eng- 
land, and  then  old  Castlemain  may  hang  Ralph  and  all 
his  crew,  for  what  I  care,  on  Goat  Island,  where  all  them 
are  pirates  was  hung  thirty  years  ago.  Yes,  Janey  dear, 
we'll  jest  git  ready;  we  can  pack  up  the  most  valuable 
goods  to  take  with  us ;  I  can  make  a  sale  to  a  man  I 
know,  for  hard  money,  of  all  the  rest — he's  to  keep  dark 
about  it  till  we  gits  off.  We  leave  word,  last  think,  or 
I'll  write  a  line  and  contrive  to  send  it  to  the  boys  in  the 
shop,  sayin'  we's  a  goin'  to  New  York,  for  a  few  days 
only,  when,  reelly,  we'll  go  to  Boston ;  ships  is  constantly 
cleerin'  from  there  for  the  old  country,  and  we'll  sail 
under  false  names.  Won't  that  be  fine,  now?"  said 
Elisha,  chuckling  with  joy. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jane ;  "  but  are  you  not  afraid  that  Castle- 
main will  find  it  out?" 

"  Why,  Lord ! "  said  Elisha,  turning  pale ;  "  how  can 
he,  who  is  to  tell  him?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Jane.  "  I  shan't,  of  course ;  all 
I  ever  told  him,  was  about  myself,  and  you  not  marrying 
me,  as  you  promised.  I  thought  it  was  hard  treatment, 
and  went  to  see  if  the  law  couldn't  make  you ;  but  Mr. 
Castlemain  said,  though  it  was  a  hard  case,  he  could  not 
oblige  you  to." 

"Did  he,  now?"  said  Elisha,  kissing  Jane  in  a  burst 
of  rapture ;  "  well,  I  declare,  but  I  will  marry  you,  and 
we  can  live  in  England  like  a  lady  and  gentleman  should ; 


A   DOUBLE   CAPTUEE.  241 

give  up  this  dingy  old  shop  and  ride  in  our  carriage  all 
day." 

"  And  how  soon  do  you  intend  to  do  all  this  ?  " 

"  In  a  few  days.  Jest  you  git  ready,  and  I'll  make  all 
sure.  The  money's  goin'  to  be  paid  at  wunst  for  the 
stock  of  goods,  groceries,  etc.,  and  I  told  the  man  I 
would  lend  him  one  hundred  pounds  or  so,  if  he  would 
only  keep  still ;  he  thinks  I  am  a  goin'  to  set  up  a  larger 
shop  in  Boston,  and  don't  want  nothin'  said  about  it  afore 
I  leave  here.  Guess  he'll  feel  rather  queer  when  he 
comes  to  examine  his  stock  of  goods,  and  wonder  where 
his  hundred  pounds  is.  Now  we  must  be  smart,  and 
then  we'll  see  who's  to  be  caught  in  the  net ;  Castlemain 
or  me." 

"That,  in  truth  you  will,"  thought  Jane;  "your  hour 
has  come  now,  and  you  shall  swing  for  this." 

Fool-like — for  such  knaves  as  Elisha  Barlow,  are  always 
fools — he  had  trusted  Jane  with  his  plan,  even  after  he 
had  begun  to  suspect  her  as  a  spy,  from  her  confession 
that  she  had  informed  Castlemain  of  her  own  wrongs. 

Elisha's  eyes  were  now  opened,  and  he  easily  accounted 
for  all  the  lawyer  had  found  out  about  him ;  but  he  de- 
tailed his  plan  with  all  kinds  of  fair  promises  to  her,  which 
he  meant  to  break,  fearing  that,  if  he  appeared  to  suspect 
her,  she  would  at  once  denounce  him.  The  rogue's  true 
idea  was,  indeed,  to  get  every  thing  into  ready  money^ 
that  he  could  secure,  and  that  accomplished,  bid  farewell 
to  Newport,  leave  Jane  and  escape  to  England.  Jane 
lulled  his  suspicions,  but  was  prepared  to  lodge  informa- 
tion with  Castlemain  at  a  moment's  notice. 

Before  the  day  arrived  on  which  he  intended  to  leave, 

Elisha  had  again  changed  his  plans.     He  despaired  of 

ever  getting  his  money  from  Ralph ;  for  he  knew  that, 

even  if  he  was  caught,  any  attempt  at  tampering  with 

11 


242         BRANDON  ;    OR,    A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

him,  could  only  result  in  his  own  seizure.  But  the  loss  of 
his  five  hundred  pounds  so  preyed  on  his  avaricious  nature, 
that  he  now  determined  to  go  first  to  Virginia ;  and,  bear- 
ing the  will  with  him,  only  deli ver  it  into  Mildred's  hands 
on  the  payment  of  much  more  than  she  had  taken  from 
him.  He  little  knew  that  Mr.  Castlemain,  anticipating 
many  of  his  tricks,  had  written  a  full  description  of  him 
to  Redtape,  with  orders  to  arrest  him,  if  he  appeared  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Williamsburg,  on  any  pretext  what- 
evei*. 

Barlow  imagined  that  he  would  not  only  secure  a  round 
sum  from  Mildred,  but  completely  baffle  pursuit — some 
supposing  that  he  had  gone  to  Boston,  others  to  New 
York ;  and  after  he  had  effected  his  purpose  in  Virginia, 
he  would  either  have  a  chance  of  going  to  England  direct, 
or  if  that  failed  him,  he  could  go  by  sea  to  Boston,  and 
there  lie  hid  until  the  vessel  was  ready  to  sail  for  London. 

On  the  day  of  his  departure,  he  lavished  the  tenderest 
caresses  on  Janey,  and  tried  to  cheat  her  for  the  last  time, 
by  saying  that  he  was  only  going  out  to  the  cavern, 
where  he  had  been  accustomed  to  meet  the  smugglers ; 
he  should  bring  back  with  him  some  of  the  valuables  from 
the  cave,  and  that  on  the  next  day  they  would  leave  the 
island  forever.  He  intended  to  go  to  the  cave,  secure  his 
booty,  and  get  the  will.  It  wras  placed  there  for  safe 
keeping,  which  Jane  did  not  know,  for  she  had  searched 
for  it  in  vain ; — but  he  had  no  intention  of  rejoining  his 
faithful  partner.  He  would  sell  his  horse  and  wagon  at 
the  upper  end  of  the  island,  and  make  his  way  to  Provi- 
dence, and  thence  go  to  Virginia,  leaving  Janey  and 
every  one  else  in  Newport  to  whistle  for  his  return. 

With  a  smile  so  cheering  that  it  was  almost  enough  to 
disperse  the  thick  fog  spreading  over  the  landscape — one 
of  those  autumnal  sea-fogs  which  every  body  who  has  ever 


A    DOUBLE    CAPTURE.  243 

been  in  Rhode  Island,  will  remember — our  Paper  Tiger 
gathered  up  his  reins  and  began  his  journey.  Telling  Jane 
to  have  something  hot  for  his  supper,  he  grinned  with  de- 
light as  he  thought  she  would  wait  a  long  time  at  that  meal ; 
and,  with  hypocrisy  to  the  last,  decided  before  driving  out 
of  town,  to  pay  a  short  visit  to  the  Reverend  Thomas 
Pollen,  and  having  a  talk  with  him  about  vestry  duties 
and  the  spread  of  Gospel  truth,  leave  a  good  impression 
on  his  mind,  at  least.  This  took  him  nearly  an  hour,  for 
he  did  not  wish  to  appear  in  a  hurry,  and  thus  excite  any 
suspicion ;  he  was  as  bland  as  a  morning  in  May. 

Let  us  leave  him  for  a  little  while  and  return  to  Jane. 
No  sooner  had  honest  Elisha  left  the  shop,  than  she  made 
haste  to  put  on  her  head  gear  and  shawl,  and  repair  to  Mr. 
Castlemain.  The  lawyer  was  at  home,  but  he  was  closeted 
with  a  very  important  personage,  no  other  than  our  old 
acquaintance,  Captain,  now  Admiral  Brooke.  He  could 
not  be  disturbed  for  half  an  hour.  Jane  in  a  frenzy  of  impa- 
tience, waited  double  that  time.  She  knew  that  Elisha 
was  about  to  give  them  the  slip,  and  she  was  anxious  to 
see  him  brought-back  in  disgrace.  At  length  Castlemain 
entered,  and  she  told  him  all ;  told  him  that  she  feared 
he  was  already  too  late,  but  that  if  he  set  off  instantly 
with  a  strong  posse  to  scour  the  roads  in  all  directions, 
he  might  succeed  in  capturing  Barlow. 

Blaming  himself  for  not  having  seen  her  before,  Cas- 
tlemain instantly  assembled  a  party ;  by  her  advice  he 
resolved  to  go  with  one  or  two  able-bodied  men  to  the 
cavern  himself,  she  denoting  its  situation  on  the  west 
side  of  Easton's  pond.  The  other  horsemen  were  to 
divide,  and  endeavor  to  stop  him  on  one  road  or  another. 
"This  fog  is  unfortunate,"  thought  Castlemain;  "one 
can  scarce  see  ten  feet,  but  we  will  try  what  is  to  be 
done."  He  at  once  informed  Admiral  Brooke,  who 


244         BRANDON  ;    OH,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

offered  to  accompany  him ;  but,  by  the  lawyer's  advice, 
was  prevented. 

"  You  had  better  return  on  board  your  frigate,  and  be 
ready  to  weigh  anchor  as  soon  as  the  fog  lifts.  If  the  re- 
port from  your  tender  which  came  in  this  morning  is  cor- 
rect, that  a  suspicious  sail  is  off  the  coast,  'tis  very  likely 
that  Ralph  is  watching  his  opportunity  to  run  in,  though 
I  do  not  see  how  he  can  do  it  in  this  dense  fog.  Thank 
God,  I  have  discovered  at  last  the  smuggler's  rendez- 
vous ;  I  have  been  baffled  in  my  search  for  it  for  years, 
and  yet  this  sneak,  Elisha  Barlow,  knew  of  it  all  the 
time.  You  had  no  idea  what  a  devil  you  had  for  a  valet. 
I  agree  with  you,  that  now  is  your  time  to  capture  Ralph, 
if  possible ;  if  you  can  take  him  alive,  I  think  the  many 
generous  acts  he  has  performed  might  go  far  with  the 
government  in  obtaining  a  pardon  for  him.  That  done, 
and  a  chance  of  honorable  service  open  to  him  under 
your  care,  may  help  in  some  measure  to  soothe  the  bitter 
remorse  which  you  tell  me  your  own  past  conduct  in  re- 
gard to  his  mother,  Miriam,  and  his  aunt  Mildred  more 
especially,  has  entailed  upon  you.  Go  now,  and  God 
speed  you." 

It  will  be  seen  that  Elisha's  delay  at  the  minister's  had 
given  him  but  little  start  ahead  of  Castlemain  and  his  myr- 
midons, and  they  were  now  hard  upon  his  track.  As  he 
drove  out  of  town  upon  the  West  road,  never  did  a  fel- 
low chuckle  more  than  he.  "This  ere  fog  is  jest  what  I 
want,  it's  better  than  midnight,"  he  thought.  At  that 
instant  he  saw  close  by  him  some  fearful  looking  thing 
in  motion,  loom  suddenly  out  of  the  fog ;  it  uttered  a  dis- 
mal groaning  sound,  and  the  superstitious  wretch  felt  for 
a  moment  that  a  monster  stood  in  his  path  ready  to  seize 
him ;  it  was  only  one  of  those  windmills  which  just  north  of 
the  town  formerly  stood  on  the  road  side,  and  for  a  hun- 


A    DOUBLE    CAPTURE.  245 

dred  years  frightened  horses.  "  Drat  that  are  windmill," 
said  Barlow,  "  to  think  I  should  have  been  frightened  at 
it  when  the  horse  wasn't."  He  tried  to  revive  his  spirits 
by  whistling,  but  that  fog,  and  the  dim  objects  seen 
through  it,  made  him  feel  gloomy,  and  he  whipped  his 
horse  into  a  faster  pace.  He  left  the  "  West "  road  for 
that  leading  to  Honniman's  hill,  and  entered  the  lane  on 
the  west  side  of  Easton's  pond.  This  lane  runs  nearly 
north  and  south  through  the  fields,  and  from  it  in  clear 
weather  a  full  view  of  the  ocean,  the  pond,  and  the  beach 
between  them  is  presented,  as  well  as  an  extensive  pros- 
pect over  the  island.  But  now,  nothing  could  be  seen  a 
few  feet  distant ;  and  nothing  was  heard  but  the  roar  of 
the  ocean  as  it  dashed  upon  the  beach. 

Elisha  left  his  wagon,  tied  his  horse,  and  then  made 
his  way  through  the  long  grass  down  to  the  cave.*  In 
the  fog  he  had  gone  a  little  distance  out  of  his  path  ;  it 


Cave,  the  scene  of  this  part  of  the  story,  is  worthy  of  a 
visit  from  the  stranger  in  Rhode  Island.  It  lies  on  the  west  side  of 
Easton's  pond,  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Newport.  The  writer  has 
visited  it  several  times.  It  is  situated  close  to  the  water,  and  is  or  was 
marked  by  two  small  trees  growing  on  the  bank  above  it.  It  is  not 
very  extensive,  but  bears  within  it  the  marks  of  tools,  showing  that  its 
original  proportions  have  been  enlarged  by  art.  It  is  quite  dark,  re- 
quiring the  aid  of  a  lantern  to  explore  it.  There  is  little  doubt  in  the 
mind  of  the  author,  that  this  cave  was  at  one  period  the  depository  of 
smugglers  or  pirates  with  whom  the  coast  formerly  abounded.  A  more 
secret  hiding  place  can  scarcely  be  imagined,  and  it  could  easily  be  ap- 
proached from  the  sea  through  the  creek  at  the  east  end  of  the  town 
beach.  In  the  author's  early  boyhood  this  creek  was  open,  and  deep 
enough  to  float  small  boats.  It  is  now  choked  with  sand,  yet  the  wa- 
ters work  through  every  winter.  In  the  summer  of  1851,  an  arched 
stone  passage  way,  leading  directly  from  the  cave  to  the  pond,  was  dis- 
covered by  Mr.  J.  B.  Weaver  and  other  gentlemen.  This  has  now 
fallen  in,  and  is  difficult  to  trace.  By  whom  it  was  built,  or  at  what 
period,  is  quite  unknown. 


246         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

took  a  short  time  to  regain  it ;  at  length  he  reached  the 
entrance  to  the  cave  on  the  water's  edge ;  he  pressed 
through  the  bushes  which  effectually  concealed  it ;  he 
looked  around,  and  saw  only  the  dense  mist.  He  enter- 
ed, creeping  up  the  dark  narrow  passage  drew  his  flint 
and  steel  from  his  pocket,  struck  a  light  and  went  into 
the  body  of  the  cave.  "  Ugh,"  said  Elisha,  shuddering, 
"  smells  kinder  mouldish  here  as  if  some  one  was  dead. 
I  don't  like  it,  and  mean  to  be  off  at  wunst.  I  wonders 
now  where  I  left  this  ere  will ;  ah !  here  it  is,"  he  added, 
placing  his  hand  upon  a  small  box  in  one  of  the  clefts  of 
the  rock.  "  Lem'me  see,  yes,  this  is  it,  all  right,  now  I'll 
be  off;"  but,  as  he  was  groping  about,  he  espied  another 
bundle  wrapped  around  with  tarred  canvass,  to  preserve 
its  contents  from  the  dampness. 

"  Here 's  some  of  these  ere  very  silks  and  laces  been 
here  since  Ralph  was  in  last  time,  and  I  never  dared  take 
'em  in  and  sell  'em,  for  fear  of  that  are  Castlemain,  blast 
him !  The  silks  will  be  too  heavy  for  me,  and  I  leave 
'em  for  the  next  comer,  but  I  will  have  the  laces ;  they  is 
worth  a  good  deal  more  than  their  weight  in  gold." 
Untying  the  bundle  which,  knotted  hard,  detained  him 
a  few  moments,  he  pulled  out  the  laces,  secured  them 
about  his  person,  and  groped  his  way  out  of  the  cave, 
much  relieved  to  find  himself  once  more  in  the  open  air. 
The  fog  was  more  dense  than  ever,  the  sun  had  almost 
set,  and  night  was  coming  on. 

At  this  instant,  Elisha  thought  he  heard  a  noise  in  the 
direction  of  the  road ;  he  stood  listening  intently  with 
his  back  turned  toward  the  pond,  and  of  course  observ- 
ing nothing  in  that  direction.  "'T'aint  nothink,  no 
how,"  he  said ;  "  I've  been  scared  all  the  afternoon,  what 
a  fool  I  is.  Well,  reelly  now,  I  is  sorry  to  leave  this  'ere 
pleasant  island ;  but  I've  got  to,  and  quick,  too,  or  Janey, 


A    DOUBLE   CAPTURE.  247 

drat  her !  will  be  wonderin'  what  »s  become  of  me.  All 
right,  off  now,  for,  by  the  time  I  gits  up  to  the  ferry,  it 
will  be  dark  as  "  .... 

"  Dark  as  hell,  Elisha  Barlow,"  said  a  rough  voice  be- 
hind him,  as  he  felt  an  iron  grip  upon  his  arm,  and,  turn- 
ing his  terror-stricken  face  around,  saw  Ralph  Estcourt, 
followed  by  half  a  dozen  of  his  gang.  "  Yes,  very  dark, 
but  no  matter ;  it  will  be  light  enough  on  board  my  ves- 
sel. Come !" 

"Oh!  mercy,  Ralph  dear;  Ralph,  only  let  me  go, 
take  everythink  I  've  got,  only  let  me  go." 

"  I  have  no  time  to  talk  here,"  said  Ralph,  seizing  him 
by  the  throat,  and  dragging  him  as  easily  as  a  kitten 
down  to  the  pond,  and  into  a  boat  lying  there ;  "  we  will 
discuss  matters  on  board,  shove  off  quick  men,  and  don't 
keep  us  in  this  damned  fog  all  night.  We  will  land  our 
goods  another  time;  but  we  have  a  prize  here  worth 
them  all." 

The  boat  was  pushed  off,  when  Elisha,  seeing  his  help- 
less situation,  gave  a  wild  yell  of  despair.  "  Just  try  that 
again,"  said  Ralph,  "  and  its  the  last  sound  you  ever 
make ;"  while  as  he  spoke  he  forced  the  muzzle  of  a  pis- 
tol into  Barlow's  mouth  so  fiercely  that  It  nearly  choked 
him.  At  this  instant  the  boat's  crew,  and  Elisha,  saw 
running  down  to  the  edge  of  the  pond,  Mr.  Castlemain 
and  two  or  three  others.  A  call  from  him  to  put  back 
was  unheeded  ;  another  stroke  of  the  oars  and  they  were 
shut  in  by  the  fog,  while  the  wretched  captive,  fainting 
away,  was  flung  into  the  bottom  of  the  boat  unnoticed. 
The  rowers  pulled  to  the  creek,  where,  getting  out,  they 
dragged  the  boat  through  it  into  the  breakers,  then  bend- 
ing to  their  oars  again,  made  for  their  vessel,  Ralph  steer- 
ing by  a  compass  in  the  stern-sheets  on  account  of  the 
fog.  A  mile  from  the  shore  a  musket  was  fired,  it  was 
answered  to  starboard,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  hull  of 


248         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS    AGO. 

the  "  Walk  to  Windward "  was  descried  in  the  gloom, 
and  the  smugglers,  with  their  prize,  stood  again  upon  her 
decks. 

When  Elisha  was  roused  from  his  stupor  by  having 
water  dashed  in  his  face,  and  brandy  poured  down  his 
throat,  he  found  himself  stretched  on  the  floor  of  the 
cabin,  and  Ralph  sitting  by  coolly  regarding  him. 

So  sudden  was  his  seizure,  so  overwhelming  to  him  the 
catastrophe,  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  one  who  might 
murder  him  with  little  compunction,  instead  of  being  on 
the  high  road  to  fortune  and  to  liberty,  it  was  more  than 
he  could  well  endure,  and  again  he  sank  back  in  a  swoon. 
"  A  damned  good  thing  you  would  have  made  of  it,  run- 
ning away  with  all  this  money,"  said  Ralph,  when  Bar- 
low was  at  length  able  to  sit  up  and  listen.  "  What  in  the 
devil's  name  were  you  doing  at  the  cave  ?  there  was  noth- 
ing there,  that  I  know  of,  that  you  could  smuggle  into 
Newport." 

"  No  indeed,  dear  Ralph ;  I'd  made  up  my  mind,  in- 
deed I  had,  to  quit  that  are  trade,  'cause  I  began  to  think 
it  was'nt  honest.  I  was  agoin'  to  leave  Newport  forever, 
and  find  out  some  spot  where  I  could  be  secure  from  the 
temptations  of  this  wicked  world  of  ourn,  and  try  to  live 
peaceable  like  with  every  one." 

"  Indeed ! "  sneered  Ralph,  "  and  leave  Janey  behind,  I 
suppose !  I  have  some  good  news  to  tell  you,  and  you 
can  inform  her  of  it  when  you  get  back.  Your  damned 
sharp-nosed  brig  has  gone  to  the  bottom,  niggers  and  all  j 
caught  in  a  hurricane  off  Barbadoes." 

"  Them  are  poor  Africans !  "  shrieked  Elisha,  "  who 
uow'll  take  care  of  their  souls  ?  " 

"  Never  do  you  mind  their  souls,  they're  whiter  than 
yours.  You  must  play  the  pious  man  to  the  last,  eh ! 
If  you  had  pocketed  the  price  of  their  skins,  devil  a 


A   DOUBLE   CAPTUEE.  249 

whit  would  their  souls  concern  you.  Well,  you  made  a 
good  haul,  with  all  this  gold,  and  government  bank  bills 
too,  and  this  lace, — and  what's  this  you  have  here !  "  said 
he,  snatching  the  will  from  Elisha's  breast,  opening  and 
glancing  over  its  contents ;  "  here,  you  bloodless  hound, 
is  positive  proof  of  the  story  I  have  heard  so  often  from 
Brooke  and  Castlemain  of  my  being  heir  to  a  large  estate  ; 
and  I  would  have  had  it  years  ago,  but  for  you  and  a 
strumpet  relative  keeping  me  from  it.  And  what  did 
you  with  the  will  all  this  time  ?  why  am  I  an  outlaw, 
a  price  set  on  my  head  ?  Now,  by  all  that's  holy,  this  is 
too  much,"  said  the  smuggler,  ferociously;  "down  on  your 
knees,  and  tell  me  all,  and  if  I  detect  you  in  one  lie,  I'll 
stave  your  brains  out  and  hurl  you  through  that  port." 
The  terrified  Tiger  did  as  he  was  told,  making  a  confes- 
sion at  which  Ralph  at  intervals  ground  his  teeth  with  fury. 
"I  don't  know,"  he  said,  Avhen  Elisha  had  ended, 
"whether  I  ought  not  to  knock  your  head  in  at  once,  and 
send  such  a  villain  out  of  the  world.  But  I'll  work  you 
now ;  I'll  torment  you ;  you'll  never  get  away  from  me 
again." 

"  Oh,  only  let  me  go  Ralph,  and  you  shall  have  every 
think  I  have." 

"  I've  got  it  already,"  said  the  ruffian  coolly ;  "  and 
now,"  he  added,  opening  the  door  of  the  cabin,  "  get  out 
of  here  and  go  forward  among  the  men ;"  at  the  same 
time  administering  such  a  kick  to  the  wretched  culprit 
that  he  spun  forwards,  howling  with  agony.  "  Now  I've 
kicked  him  out  of  my  sight,"  added  Ralph,  musingly, 
"  I'll  see  what  is  best  to  be  done  about  this  matter." 

It  may  be  imagined  that  Elisha's  treatment  that  night 
by  the  crew  was  not  of  the  tenderest  kind,  nor  his  dreams 
the  most  peaceful. 

Castlemain  and  his  party  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  pond 
11* 


250         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

for  half  an  hour,  shouting  until  they  were  hoarse.  How 
bitterly  the  lawyer  regretted  the  delay  which  caused  him 
to  lose  his  prize,  when  he  could  almost  put  his  hand  on 
him,  but  he  was  beyond  pursuit  now.  He  had  heard  the 
wretch's  desponding  cry,  knew  his  figure,  and  was  sure 
that  the  burly  form  beside  him  was  that  of  Ralph ;  an 
instant  more  and  the  boat  was  lost  in  the  mist.  The  dis- 
appointed party  remounted  their  steeds,  and  taking 
Elisha's  horse  and  wagon  with  them,  rode  back  to  New- 
port. Castlemain  went  direct  to  Mrs.  Barlow,  and  was 
not  surprised  to  find  that  she  expressed  no  pity  for  the 
Tiger's  fate.  He  next  sent  a  dispatch  out  to  the  frigate, 
having  great  trouble  to  induce  any  boatman  to  venture 
out  into  the  harbor;  and  then  revenged  himself  the  re- 
mainder of  the  evening  by  cursing  the  fog  for  all  manner 
of  misfortunes. 

He  knew  that  the  vigilant  Brooke  would  weigh  anchor 
and  spread  all  sail  in  pursuit  of  the  smuggler,  the  moment 
the  mist  lifted  from  the  waters ;  and  at  the  dawn  of  day 
he  ran  to  the  window  to  look  for  the  tall  masts  of  the 
man-of-war,  but  the  atmosphere  was  perfectly  clear,  and 
his  Majesty's  ship  Avenger,  had  already  left  her  moor- 
ings. 

"  Now,  may  heaven  help  us  to  catch  the  '  Walk  to 
Windward  '  this  time,"  said  Admiral  Brooke  to  Captain 
Benson,  as  they  sat  at  breakfast ;  "  if  we  do  not,  Ralph 
is  the  devil  himself,  I  believe." 

"He  has  given  you  the  slip  pretty  often,  I  think, 
admiral.  Why  are  you  so  anxious  to  see  him  taken 
under  your  own  eye  ?  Have  you  any  particular  reason  for 
feeling  such  an  interest  in  him  ?"  asked  Benson. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  admiral,  in  a  tone  intended  to  stop 
further  questioning.  "  Have  you  a  sharp  watch  set  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  a  double  watch,  and  a  man  has  gone  aloft  to 


A   DOUBLE   CAPTURE.  251 

each  masthead,  in  hopes  of  winning  the  five  guineas  you 
have  promised  to  the  one  who  first  sights  the  brig ;"  and 
so  Captain  Benson,  perceiving  that  his  superior  was 
averse  to  answering  questions,  finished  his  meal  and  went 
on  deck,  without  asking  more ;  acting  like  a  discreet  man, 
as  he  was. 

"  Sail,  ho  !"  bawled  the  look  out  at  the  mainmast  head. 
"  Where  away  ?"  shouted  out  the  first  lieutenant  on 
deck. 

"  Off  the  starboard  bow,  hull  down  to  leeward." 
The  admiral  at  once  came  up  out  of  the  cabin,  and 
swept  the  horizon  with  his  glass.  He  watched  the  head 
sails  of  a  vessel,  just  peering  over  the  sea ;  long  and 
keenly  did  he  look  to  make  out  her  rig.  The  trim  neat- 
ness and  cut  of  her  canvas,  even  at  so  great  a  distance, 
could  not  escape  his  practised  eye.  "  'Tis  she  !  "  he  ex- 
claimed, handing  his  glass  to  Benson  ;  "  'tis  the  '  Walk 
to  Windward,'  and  I  will  wager  my  life  upon  it.  We 
are  to  windward  of  her  though  this  time,  Benson,  and  if 
we  only  manage  to  keep  the  weather  gage,  she's  ours. 
But  a  stern  chase  is  a  long  chase,  and  she  is  almost  dead 
ahead  of  us.  Clap  on  every  inch  of  canvas  the  frigate 
can  carry,  and  put  the  best  men  at  the  wheel  that  ever 
handed  spoke." 

The  order  was  no  sooner  given  than  a  swarm  of  sailors 
sprung  into  the  rigging.  Sail  after  sail,  aloft  and  below, 
was  given  to  the  wind,  until  the  ship  was  almost  buried 
beneath  the  towering  pyramid  of  canvas  ;  when  leaning 
far  over  on  her  side,  the  waves  were  dashed  in  showers 
of  foam  from  her  bows,  as  she  rose  and  fell  on  the  billows, 
leaving  a  long,  white,  hissing  wake  on  the  blue  and 
glittering  brine. 

The  sun  shone  down  upon  the  sea  in  unclouded  splen- 
dor, lighting  n  scene  which  made  the  heart  beat  wild  with 


252          BRANDON  ;   OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

emotion  ;  ahead  lay  the  chase,  every  eye  fixed  upon  it, 
and  fired  with  delight  as  it  became  evident,  from  its 
greater  distinctness  in  an  hour's  time,  that  the  flying 
"  Avenger"  was  gradually  coming  up  with  it. 

Every  expedient  that  nautical  science  could  suggest 
to  increase  the  speed  of  the  frigate  was  adopted,  and  as 
if  instinct  with  the  spirit  of  the  chase,  she  bounded  over 
the  waters.  "  Keep  her  just  as  near  the  wind's  eye  as 
she  will  graze,"  said  the  admiral ;  "  nearer  now,  luff  and 
shake  her."  The  order,  instantly  obeyed,  caused  the 
frigate's  topsails  for  a  moment  to  shiver  in  the  breeze, 
with  a  sharp  fluttering  report,  then  as  they  filled  again 
and  stretched  to  their  utmost,  she  flew  with  accelerated 
motion,  as  a  steed  rushes  for  the  goal.  Nor  was  there 
less  exertion  on  board  the  "  Walk  to  Windward ;"  she, 
too,  carried  every  sail  she  could  spread,  and  was  steered 
in  the  most  careful  manner,  Ralph  himself  standing  by 
the  wheel ;  but  as  she  was  a  brig,  it  soon  became  evident 
to  him,  swift  as  she  was,  that  in  a  long  chase  the  frigate 
would  overhaul  her. 

Ralph  had  come  to  no  decision  in  regard  to  the  will ; 
he  was  afraid  to  leave  his  vessel  and  take  one  step  for  the 
recovery  of  his  property.  Branded  as  he  was,  his  first 
move  would  be  the  signal  for  his  arrest.  His  vessel  was 
under  easy  sail,  and  he  was  about  to  send  for  Elisha,  to 
confer  with  him  again,  when  the  appearance  of  the 
"Avenger,"  the  fastest  ship  in  his  Majesty's  service,  at 
once  put  these  thoughts  to  flight,  and  caused  him  to  bend 
his  whole  energies  towards  escape.  He  did  not,  of  course, 
know  his  pursuer  at  first,  but  the  manner  in  which  the 
frigate  was  sailed,  and  had  approached  him,  convinced 
huii  ere  long  that  she  was  no  other  than  Admiral  Brooke's 
celebrated  man-of-war.  As  to  Elisha,  be  was  in  a  most 
pitiable  state,  dreadfully  sea-sick,  and,  coward  as  he  was, 


A   DOUBLE   CAPTUKE.  253 

looking  forward  to  a  combat  and  capture  by  the  frigate 
with  the  most  abject  terror. 

The  sun  rose  towards  the  meridian,  and  the  frigate  had 
so  gained  upon  the  chase,  that  her  black  hull,  bristling 
with  guns,  now  towered  above  the  waters.  The  two 
vessels,  prepared  for  action,  were  about  two  miles  apart, 
yet  running  nearly  parallel  courses,  when  Ralph,  deter- 
mined on  bold  measures,  resolved  to  give  the  first  broad- 
side, hoping  to  disable  the  "  Avenger."  He  allowed  her 
to  draw  gradually  close  to  him,  when,  suddenly  putting 
the  brig  about  on  the  larboard  tack,  he  drove  her 
directly  across  the  bows  of  the  frigate.  As  the  "Aven- 
ger's" bowsprit  nearly  grazed  his  sails,  the  smuggler 
fired  a  broadside  into  her,  but  as  his  shot  were  intended 
to  injure  her  rigging,  and  thus  deaden  her  speed,  his 
guns  were  aimed  too  high,  and,  save  cutting  away  a  few 
stays  and  piercing  the  sails,  did  no  damage.  But  the 
frigate's  broadside,  which  aimed  in  its  turn  at  the  "  Walk 
to  Windward's"  hull,  poured  a  deadly  discharge  among 
the  crew,  struck  down  many  of  the  smugglers,  and  put 
an  end  forever  to  the  life  and  crimes  of  Ralph  Estcourt,  as 
a  chain  shot  cut  him  in  two.  He  fell  dead  upon  his  deck, 
and  in  the  same  instant  a  round  shot  took  off  the  right 
leg  of  Elisha  Barlow.  Ralph,  heedless  of  his  frantic 
agony,  had  refused  to  let  him  go  below,  when  the  vessels 
were  about  to  engage,  and  lashed  him  to  a  stanchion, 
telling  him,  with  a  sneer,  that  in  his  position  he  could  see 
the  fight  to  the  greatest  advantage.  The  frigate  grappled 
with  her  adversary,  and  the  contest  was  short,  stern  and 
decisive.  The  smugglers  fought  desperately,  but  in  vain ; 
the  boarders  from  the  "Avenger"  overpowered  and  cut 
them  down,  until  of  the  once  powerful  crew  but  a  rem- 
nant remained,  who,  perceiving  that  further  resistance 
was  useless,  surrendered.  They  were  ironed  and  sent  on 


254        BRANDON  ;    OB,   A  HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 

board  the  frigate,  and  the  "  Walk  to  Windward,"  having 
been  taken  formal  possession  of,  the  two  vessels  were 
once  again  steered  to  the  west,  and  before  sunset  came  to 
anchor  side  by  side  in  the  harbor  of  Newport. 

Brooke  regretted  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  take 
Ralph  alive,  but  it  had  been  ordained  otherwise ;  and  he 
felt  that  even  if  a  pardon  could  have  been  obtained  from 
the  government,  which  was  by  no  means  certain,  it 
would  have  been  a  hard  and  thankless  task  to  win  him 
from  evil  courses. 

While  in  the  cabin  of  the  "  Walk  to  Windward,"  he 
found  a  small  desk  stored  with  money,  valuables,  and 
manuscript  papers.  One  of  the  first  of  these  papers  on 
which  he  placed  his  hand,  was  the  will,  which  for  so  many 
years  had  been  secreted,  and  of  which  he  had  heard  so 
much  from  Castlemain.  He  opened  and  read  it,  power- 
fully affected,  as  he  thought  on  the  premature  and  mel- 
ancholy fate  of  the  unfortunate  outlaw,  so  suddenly 
struck  down  in  his  career  of  guilt ;  and  whom  this  very 
document  had  been  intended  to  benefit.  How  it  came 
into  Ralph's  possession,  he  was  unable  to  imagine,  until 
Elisha  Barlow,  having  undergone  the  amputation  of  his 
shattered  leg,  sent  for  Brooke ;  and  in  the  close,  dimly- 
lighted  cockpit,  under  the  agony  of  mind  produced  by 
the  fear  of  his  approaching  death,  which  he  had  every 
reason  to  expect,  made  a  full  confession  of  all  his  iniqui- 
ties, and  particularly  those  relating  to  the  missing  will. 
Nor  was  this  all,  for  subsequently  discovering  that  the 
loss  of  his  limb  would  not  be  fatal  to  him,  the  abject 
wretch,  fearing  for  his  own  neck,  hinted  that  he  could 
reveal  much  in  regard  to  the  smugglers ;  and  was  per- 
mitted by  the  government  to  testify  against  his  former 
associates.  He  proved  the  means  of  bringing  most  of 
them  to  the  gibbet ;  for  he  was  accepted  as  "  king's  evi- 


A   DOUBLE   CAPTURE.  255 

dence ;"  a  character  which  some  writer  has  described,  as 
"  a  villain,  pardoned  for  being  baser  than  his  companions." 

But  his  infamous  course  met  its  due  reward ;  he  was 
spared  nothing  but  his  life,  and  was  stripped  of  every 
particle  of  his  ill-gotten  wealth. 

He  found,  on  his  return  to  the  shore,  that  his  affec- 
tionate pai'tner,  who  never  came  near  him  in  his  illness, 
had  chosen  a  second  husband ;  or  rather,  a  legal  one,  for 
the  first  time  ;  and  having  induced  some  one  to  marry 
her,  had  taken  her  departure  from  Newport,  with  many 
choice  pickings  of  the  shop,  and  he  never  heard  of  her 
afterwards. 

Poor,  unpitied,  and  shunned,  he  dragged  out  a  miser- 
able existence ;  sometimes  doing  a  little  work  for  support, 
until  he  finally  came  upon  the  parish ;  and  dying  some 
years  after  the  period  of  our  story,  a  pauper  in  the  alms- 
house,  was  stretched  beneath  the  sod,  without  a  stone  to 
indicate  the  spot. 

Brooke  and  Castlemain  agreed,  that  the  will  so 
strangely  recovered,  must  at  once  be  placed  on  record 
in  the  proper  court  in  Virginia ;  and  that  simple  justice, 
if  not  vengeance,  should  be  the  part  performed  against 
Mildred.  But  both  were  desirous,  since  the  heir  to  the 
property  was  dead,  and  since  Blanche  Estcourt  was  in 
the  last  stage  of  life,  that  justice  should  be  tempered  by 
mercy ;  so  that,  if  possible,  no  public  exposure  should 
be  made  of  Mildred,  unless  she  persisted  in  evil  courses. 

These  preliminaries  arranged,  Castlemain  and  his 
daughter  Emily  embarked  with  Admiral  Brooke  on 
board  the  "Avenger ;"  and  with  favoring  winds,  in  a  few 
days  she  passed  within  the  Capes  of  Virginia,  and  came 
to  anchor  in  Hampton  Roads. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

CHANGE   OF    OPINION. 

THE  letters  which  Charles  had  written  from  the  Cana- 
das  to  his  parents,  had  informed  them  of  the  progress  of 
events,  and  his  own  safety,  after  the  attack  on  the  French 
entrenchments,  of  the  31st  of  July. 

These  papers  were  read  with  tearful  interest  by  Mrs. 
Brandon,  mourning  for  the  absence  of  her  son.  She  had 
scarce  smiled  since  he  left  Kingwood;  and  continually 
felt,  that  but  for  his  father's  harsh  treatment  of  him,  he 
would  still  be  with  her  in  peace.  What  had  been  gained, 
she  thought,  by  Mr.  Brandon's  stern  course?  He  had 
been  thwarted  forever  by  a  power  mightier  than  his,  for 
Blanche  Estcourt  was  now  dead;  she  had  been  borne 
away  at  the  season  when  nature  touches  the  leaves  of 
the  forests  with  the  chill  blasts  of  autumn.  She  died, 
and  with  her  perished  the  hopes  and  plans  of  two  proud 
spirits,  and  the  fell  plots  of  one.  To  Mrs.  Brandon  this 
blow  was  distressing,  for  she  had  learnt  to  love  Blanche, 
although  her  son  could  never  feel  towards  her  as  a  lover. 
Mr.  Brandon  said  little  about  her  death,  but  it  was  plain 
that  the  old  gentleman  was  ill  at  ease ;  he  was  observed 
to  walk  about  a  great  deal,  shaking  his  head  and  mutter- 
ing. He  talked  of  his  son,  though,  constantly,  and  was 
never  weary  of  praising  him  for  his  gallant  part  in  behalf 
of  his  sovereign,  and  predicting  that  he  would  acquire 
distinguished  honor  in  the  campaign.  Charles'  father, 
laying  aside  the  passion  and  blind  prejudice  which  had 
(256) 


CHANGE   OF   OPINION.  257 

hurried  him  on  in  his  obstinate  course,  now  began  seri- 
ously to  reflect  that  he  had  been  exceedingly  unkind  to 
his  son,  and  had  driven  him  from  his  paternal  roof;  but 
that  all  should  be  made  up  to  him  by  redoubled  kindness 
on  his  return. 

Furthermore,  he  wondered,  now  that  poor  Blanche 
had  gone,  whether  he  had  not  acted  very  foolishly  from 
the  beginning,  in  his  desperate  opposition  to  Charles' 
love.  True,  Lucy  was  not  rich,  and  Blanche  would  have 
been,  but  he  should  have  had  a  quarrel  with  her  mother 
in  a  week,  in  spite  of  all  his  pompous  deference  to  her. 
"  And  this  island  maiden,  this  Lucy  Tyrrell,"  he  thought, 
"surely  she  is  beautiful,  she  is  well  educated,  she  has 
spirit — that  I  can  swear  to,  for  on  that  day  when  she 
came  into  the  drawing-room  and  spoke  so  to  me,  I  felt 
her  words  in  my  very  bones. 

"And  what  if  she  is  poor?  She  is  proud.  So  am  I.  I 
like  pride,  and  plenty  of  it.  What  if  she  is  poor  ?  I  am 
rich ;  have  more  wealth  than  I  know  Avhat  to  do  with. 
Charles  will  have  it  after  me.  Why  is  she  not  fitted  to 
grace  the  halls  of  Kingwood  ?  Let  me  see  if  she  is  not 
equal  to  any  of  the  pictures  of  my  fair  ancestors." 

Mr.  Brandon  examined  the  beauties  that  decked  the 
walls  of  the  mansion,  and  decided  at  once,  that  she  was 
superior  to  them  all ;  and  that  no  other  person  would  or 
should,  by  any  possibility,  be  the  wife  of  his  son.  Having 
resolved  this,  with  the  usual  impetuosity  of  his  charac- 
ter, he  informed  his  wife  how  sorry  he  felt  for  his  harsh 
conduct ;  how  much  he  longed  to  repair  it  by  kindness ; 
and  that  he  was  determined  to  write  at  once  to  Mr.  Tyr- 
rell, and  claim  the  hand  of  his  lovely  daughter  for 
Charles. 

"  Stay,"  said  Mrs.  Brandon,  who,  accustomed  as  she 
was  to  her  husband's  peculiar  nature,  was  in  this  instance 


258         BRANDON  ;    OB,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

perfectly  astounded,  and  quite  unprepared  to  join  her 
consent  to  his,  so  suddenly : 

"  Stay,  you  have  been  too  precipitate  before,  you  may 
be  so  now." 

"  Impossible ;  do  I  not  tell  you  that  she  is  lovely,  is 
beautiful,  elegant  in  manners,  high  spirited,  just  the  very 
woman  for  Charles.  Love  her  I  know  you  will,  how  can 
you  help  it.  I  love  her,  yes,  love  her  dearly." 

"  Since  when,  Mr.  Brandon  ?" 

"  Oh  !  it  matters  not  since  when,  if  I  love  her  now ; 
she  shall  be  your  daughter,  she  shall  be  Charles'  wife, 
shall,  I  say ;  and  I  will  this  instant  write  to  her  father." 

"  Let  me  do  so,"  said  Mrs.  Brandon,  not  displeased  at 
the  turn  affairs  had  taken,  for  she  had  heard  much  of  Lucy 
from  Randolph  and  Matilda ;  "  let  me  do  so.  I  will  act 
more  discreetly  than  you  can  ?  Will  you  ?  I  repeat." 

"  Yes,  I  will.     Write  as  you  please,  but  write." 

"Oh,  that  they  were  both  here  now!"  he  added; 
"  they  might  have  been  but  for  my  folly." 

As  Mr.  Brandon  appeared  determined  to  go  at  once 
and  see  Randolph  on  the  subject,  Mrs.  Brandon  sat  down 
to  write,  not  to  Mr.  Tyrrell,  but  to  his  daughter  Lucy, 
such  a  letter  as  a  mother,  and  a  mother  like  her,  could 
alone  compose  under  the  circumstances  of  the  case. 

The  missive  was  despatched  as  usual  to  Williamsburg, 
but  Mr.  Brandon  did  not  go  that  day,  nor  the  next,  nor 
for  a  week,  to  see  his  nephew.  For  once  a  Brandon  felt 
faint-hearted,  and  he  put  off  from  hour  to  hour  a  meet- 
ing which  he  dreaded,  knowing  that  his  course  towards 
Randolph  and  his  wife  had  not  been  kind.  At  last,  sum- 
moning resolution,  he  rode  to  his  nephew's  house,  and 
was  told  by  the  servant  that  he  was  at  home.  In  a  mo- 
ment more  the  door  opened,  and  a  gentleman  emerged ; 
it  was  Patrick  Henry,  with  whom,  ever  since  Charles'  de- 


CHANGE   OP   OPINION.  259 

parture,  Mr.  Brandon  had  been  on  the  most  friendly 
terms. 

"  I  am  happy  to  meet  you,  sir,"  said  Henry.  "  I  was 
about  to  repair  to  your  house  to  inform  you  that  in  a  day 
or  two  we  might  require  your  presence  in  Williarnsburg, 
in  connection  with  a  matter  touching  Mistress  Mildred 
Estcourt.  May  I  inquire  if  you  have  ever  known  a  Cap- 
tain, now  Admiral  Brooke,  of  his  Majesty's  service  ?  " 

"  Brooke,"  said  Mr.  Brandon ;  "  yes,  I  remember  many 
years  ago  a  Greville  Brooke  ;  we  were  both  young  then, 
and  he  was  an  audacious  libertine." 

"The  same  person,"  said  Henry;  "he  seems  much 
changed  now,  and  I  understand  has  become  a  religious 
man.  He  inquired  very  kindly  for  you.  That  is  all  I 
wished  to  ask  now." 

"  But  what  is  all  this  about,  and  what  am  I  required 
for  in  Williamsburg?" 

"  I  have  not  now  leisure  to  inform  you,  sir,"  replied 
Patrick  Henry ;  "  it  is  a  long  story,  and  will  take  some 
tune  to  be  told.  Good  morning  to  you,  sir,  my  time  is 
valuable  ;  but  I  may  depend  upon  you  when  required  ?" 

"  You  may,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Brandon  ;  when,  as  Henry 
rode  away,  he  entered  the  house. 

"  At  last,  uncle,"  said  Randolph  heartily,  "  we  have 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you ;  better  late  than  never,  and 
more  the  welcome  for  being  late.  We  shall  not  let  you 
off  now,  under  a  day  or  two  to  begin  with.  Here  comes 
Matilda," 

This  kind  greeting  made  the  old  gentleman  feel  at 
home ;  he  was  pleased  with  Matilda  and  her  little  son, 
stayed  to  dinner,  talked  much  of  the  war  and  of  the  pro- 
digies of  valor  Charles  was  performing,  and  after  the 
meal  was  over  at  once  unbosomed  himself  to  Randolph. 
He  told  him  how  completely  he  had  changed  his  views, 


260         BRANDON  :    OR,    A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

and  how  anxious  he  was  for  his  son's  happiness,  which  he 
knew  now  could  only  be  accomplished  by  his  union  with 
Lucy  Tyrrell. 

As  Mr.  Brandon  talked,  a  cloud  gathered  on  Ran- 
dolph's brow.  "  It  is  a  pity,  uncle,  that  I  could  not  have 
heard  of  this  sooner,  much  as  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  it 
now.  In  truth,  we  have  had  bad  news  from  Lucy,  which 
has  made  her  cousin  Matilda  feel  sad." 

"  Bad  news !  unhappy !  oh,  what  a  villain  I  have  been !" 
burst  out  Mr.  Brandon. 

"  Well,  dear  uncle,  you  did  every  thing  as  you  deemed 
best,  I  know ;  and,  thank  Heaven,  it  is  not  yet  too  late 
to  make  all  happy.  Does  Charles  know  of  your  change 
of  sentiments  ?" 

"  No,  I  have  not  yet  written  to  him  about  it ;  I  pre- 
ferred to  wait  awhile  until  I  heard  from  him  again,  as  I 
knew  that  his  resolution  would  not  be  broken." 

"You  should  write,  though,  at  once ;  Charles  will  fight 
all  the  better  for  it.  Now  let  me  tell  you  as  to  Lucy 
and  her  sad  letter.  When  Charles  was  in  Boston,  he 
took  occasion  before  sailing  to  Louisburg,  to  run  down  to 
the  island  to  see  her,  thinking  that  she  was  still  there ;  for, 
as  I  had  not  returned  to  Virginia  at  the  time  he  left,  he 
was  of  course  ignorant  of  the  change  in  Mr.  Tyrrell's 
fortunes,  or  rather  his  situation,  for  he  is  still  quite  poor. 
He  was  distracted  to  find  that  she  had  left  the  island,  the 
ignorant  stupid  people  giving  or  able  to  give  no  informa- 
tion as  to  her  residence.  They  insisted,  however,  that 
she  lived  in  Boston,  because  they  had  written  to  her 
there,  and  she  had  answered,  dating  from  the  same  place  ; 
for  she  was  frequently  in  the  city,  and  wrote  at  such 
times  as  the  packet  was  about  starting.  Some  of  these 
letters  the  people  showed  him  ;  but  they  could  have  told 
nothing  of  Cambridge,  which  accounts  to  me  for  his 


CHANGE   OP   OPINION.  261 

otherwise  almost  unaccountable  ignorance  of  her  home. 
Poor  Charles  has  been  peculiarly  unfortunate,  not  seeing 
or  hearing  any  thing  of  her  in  his  distracted  wanderings 
about  Boston.  Even  when  he  went  to  the  former  man- 
sion of  Matilda's  father,  and  met  old  Amy,  one  of  the 
domestics  of  the  family,  she  too  was  unable  to  tell  him 
one  word  of  Lucy.  Beyond  all  that,  the  letter  which  he 
wrote  me  so  long  since,  just  prior  to  his  leaving  to  join 
General  Wolfe,  he  confided  to  a  companion  who  took 
charge  of  it  for  the  post,  Charles  not  having  time  to  mail 
it ;  and  this  friend,  then  utterly  forgetting  it,  had  it  for 
some  months  in  his  possession.  At  last,  he  sent  it  to  me 
a  few  days  since,  and  for  his  carelessness  makes  a  humble 
apology,  which  does  not  mend  the  matter.  It  is  now  the 
middle  of  October,  and  that  letter  was  written  on  the  2d 
of  last  May.  Lucy  writes  in  sad  spirits ;  she  says  that 
some  time  since  you  wrote  a  letter  to  her  father,  in  answer 
to  one  of  his,  telling  Mr.  Tyrrell  that  Charles  was  very 
soon  to  be  married  to  Blanche  Estcourt,  heaven  rest 
her  soul,  poor  girl !  Was  this  so  ?" 

"  Yes,"  groaned  Mr.  Brandon,  "  I  did  write  so,  think- 
ing at  the  time  that  it  was  only  necessary  for  me  to  insist 
on  Charles  marrying  her,  and  that  he  would.  Oh,  how 
bitterly  I  repent  it  now." 

"  It  was  indeed  a  serious  wrong,  and  may  do  incalcul- 
able mischief.  Lucy,  as  you  may  readily  imagine,  was 
dreadfully  distressed  at  this  news,  this  fatal  treachery,  as 
she  thought  it,  and  moreover,  after  Charles  had  sailed  for 
Louisburg,  she  heard  of  his  having  been  in  Boston  prior 
to  joining  Wolfe's  expedition.  This  only  added  poison 
to  the  arrow's  sting.  She  concluded  that,  even  if  the 
marriage  with  Blanche  was  broken  off,  of  her  he  thought 
no  longer.  She  is  indeed  unhappy.  She  writes  of  a  suitor 
for  her  hand  who  persecutes  her  with  his  attentions,  whom 


262         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

she  has  already  twice  refused  ;  but  Mr.  Lnscelles,  such  is 
his  name,  is  agreeable  to  her  parents,  and  the  poor  girl  is 
tormented  in  many  ways.  She  does  not  love  him,  never 
can  love  him,  as  she  writes,  and  yet  she  may  yield  to  the 
importunities  of  her  parents,  and  accept  him  in  sheer  des- 
pair. Whatever  we  do  must  be  done  quickly.  I  shall 
at  once  write  to  her,  and  to  her  father  too,  explaining 
everything,  and,  sending  Charles'  letter,  beg  her  not  to 
act  precipitately.  You  had  better,  by  all  means,  write  at 
once  to  Charles,  and  to  Mr.  Tyrrell  also,  if  you  are  deter- 
mined as  you  say." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I  am  determined ;  never  was  more  de- 
termined in  my  life.  I  will  write  to  Charles  at  once,  and 
gladden  the  dear  boy's  heart ;  but  Mrs.  Brandon  engaged 
to  write  to  Lucy  herself.  Oh,  what  a  fool  I  have  been !" 

Randolph  could  not  help  thinking  that  his  uncle  had 
appropriately  styled  himself,  although  he  did  not  say  so  ; 
but  contenting  himself  with  a  pi-etty  sharp  reprimand, 
considering  that  he  was  a  nephew,  which  scolding  Mr. 
Brandon  bore  without  any  attempt  at  exculpation,  he 
now  changed  the  subject  to  Mildred.  He  detailed  what 
Patrick  Henry  had  said  to  him,  which  in  substance  am- 
ounted to  about  the  same  as  he  had  unfolded  to  Mr. 
Brandon,  concluding  by  saying  that  though  in  reality  he 
knew  little  more  than  his  uncle,  yet  he  doubted  not  that 
some  catastrophe  awaited  her,  of  which  they  had  no  pre- 
sent conception.  Then  bidding  the  old  gentleman  fare- 
well, as  he  was  mounting  his  horse,  he  told  him  to  be  of 
good  cheer,  and  without  delay  inform  Charles  of  his 
coming  happiness.  This  the  changed  old  man  promised 
to  do,  and  at  once  on  his  arrival  at  home  was  as  good  as 
his  word.  His  letter,  as  we  shall  see  later,  went  direct  to 
its  destination,  and  gave  joy  to  the  heart  of  his  son. — "We 
must  not,  however,  anticipate. 

A  day  or  two  after  this  came  the  glorious  news  of  the 


CHANGE    OF    OPINION.  263 

battle  before  Quebec,  and  its  subsequent  surrender. 
There  was  nothing  from  Charles,  and  his  parents,  with 
agonized  feelings,  waited  the  receipt  of  the  lists  of  killed  and 
wounded,  fearing  for  the  worst.  The  next  post  brought  a 
letter,  not  from  him,  but  a  queerly  tucked,  folded,  and 
directed  missive,  characteristic  of  no  one  but  Bela  Tilley. 
It  described,  in  plain  terms,  the  state  of  Charles'  case, 
spoke  of  his  wounds,  and  of  his  anxiety  to  write  as  soon 
as  the  surgeon  in  attendance  would  permit  him  to. 

The  epistle,  between  tears  and  laughter,  cost  Charles' 
worthy  parents  an  hour's  labor  in  deciphering.  Rejoiced 
as  they  were  to  hear  such  news  of  their  son,  whom  they 
had  already  mourned  as  dead,  and  much  as  they  trusted 
to  the  faithful  Bela,  Mrs.  Brandon  was  too  anxious  for 
Charles'  recovery  to  think  of  remaining  at  home  any 
longer — she  would  go  at  once  to  nurse  him.  The  parents 
determined  to  set  off  immediately,  and  on  their  way  to 
pause  but  for  a  day  in  Cambridge,  to  see  Lucy  and  make 
her  happy  before  pursuing  their  journey  to  Canada.  But 
that  night  Mr.  Brandon,  who  was  highly  excited  with  the 
news,  coupled  with  what  he  had  heard  from  Randolph 
and  Patrick  Henry,  was  taken  ill,  and  the  next  morning, 
being  in  a  high  fever,  his  physician  forbade  him  to  rise  or 
to  think  of  leaving  Kingwood  until  he  recovered  ;  a  few 
days  of  rest,  he  said,  Avould  restore  his  patient  to  his  usual 
health,  and  the  mother,  meanwhile  praying  often  and  fer- 
vently for  her  son's  recovery,  was  obliged  to  remain  with 
her  husband.  She  sent  for  Randolph,  who  promised  to 
go  to  Charles  himself  in  a  few  days,  as  soon  as  the  busi- 
ness which  Patrick  Henry  had  informed  him  was  of  such 
consequence,  and  in  which  Mildred  was  concerned,  could 
be  settled.  "  It  will  make  scarce  the  difference  of  a  day, 
dear  Aunt  Eleanor,"  he  said,  "because  I  will  hurry 
through  my  journey  and  spare  neither  steed  nor  money 
in  rapid  travelling." 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

THE   FATE   OF   MILDRED. 

LET  us,  once  more,  return  to  Mildred.  Blanche  was 
dead,  and  the  mother  wore  the  outward  signs  of  mourn- 
ing for  her  daughter.  She  doubtless  felt  as  much  as  such 
a  heart  could  feel,  and  for  such  a  child,  whom  she  loved 
next  to  herself;  but,  in  place  of  the  deep  sorrow,  the  bit- 
ter anguish,  which  mothers  of  more  tenderness,  would 
experience,  she  struggled  with  feelings  of  contending 
nature.  She  beheld  the  ruin  of  all  her  hopes  and  schemes, 
every  purpose  forever  blasted,  and  grief  for  Blanche  was 
almost  lost  in  the  agonies  of  disappointment,  and  of  hu- 
miliated pride.  Death,  itself,  makes  little  impression  on 
such  natures ;  and  the  composure  with  which  they  bear 
the  loss  of  friends  is  to  be  traced  not  to  devout  resigna- 
tion, but  to  the  cold  materialism  of  their  marble  hearts. 
No  frantic  sorrow,  no  burst  of  passion,  came  from  Mil- 
dred ;  but  a  sullen  gloom,  a  loathing  of  all  excitement,  a 
lethargic  indifference  to  all  outward  things,  took  possession 
of  her.  One  day  while  she  was  in  this  mood,  the  stupid 
negro,  who  had  been  frequently  employed  to  convey  the 
letters  from  Kingwood  to  the  post  office,  stopped  at  her 
door  and  asked,  as  she  had  instructed  him  to,  if  she  had 
any  thing  of  her  own  to  send  ?  Rousing  from  her  stupor, 
she  took  Mrs.  Brandon's  letter  to  Lucy,  from  the  hands  of 
the  servant,  telling  him  to  wait  a  moment,  and  she  would 
give  him  something  else  to  carry.  Then,  in  the  mere 
wantonness  of  crime,  she  determined  to  withhold  Mrs. 
Brandon's  letter,  and  see  what  its  contents  were.  Then, 
(264) 


THE    FATE    OF    MILDRED.  265 

merely  folding  a  blank  sheet  of  paper,  she  wrote  upon  it 
a  fictitious  address,  and  gave  it  to  the  boy,  whom  she 
knew  would  observe  no  difference,  he  not  being  able  to 
read.  At  the  same  time  rewarding  him  with  half  a 
crown  ;  she  told  him  that  she  had  altered  her  mind  about 
writing,  and  that  he  need  say  nothing  about  having 
stopped  at  her  house,  as  Mr.  Brandon  might  not  like  it. 
But  the  negro  boy,  thick-headed  as  he  was,  on  this  occa- 
sion exercised  his  thinking  faculties;  it  struck  him,  in 
the  first  place,  that  Mildred's  caution  was  singular,  and 
he  feared  he  had  done  wrong  in  going  to  her  house 
instead  of  direct  to  the  office.  In  the  next  place,  though 
he  could  not  read,  he  imagined  the  letter  looked  differ- 
ently from  the  one  he  gave  to  Mildred  ;  she  returned  him 
one  sealed  with  black  wax,  while  he  remembered  that 
the  seal  of  the  other  was  scarlet.  On  his  way  to  the 
office,  he  asked  a  gentleman  to  read  the  superscription, 
which  being  told  to  him  he  recollected.  He  made  up  his 
mind,  after  turning  the  matter  over  in  his  head  several 
days,  to  say  something  of  it  to  his  master ;  but,  Mr.  Bran- 
don being  ill,  he  with  great  importance  of  manner,  un- 
folded it  to  Randolph,  as  he  was  at  Kingwood. 

Randolph,  merely  telling  him  not  to  go  again  to  Mis- 
tress Estcourt,  put  the  boy  off  by  saying,  that  it  was  a 
matter  of  no  consequence,  and  then  informed  Mr.  Red- 
tape,  who  was  glad  to  hear  any  news  about  Lady  Milr 
dred. 

Mistress  Estcourt,  after  the  boy  had  gone,  read  the 
letter  to  Lucy ;  it  filled  her  with  bitter  envy  and  jealousy, 
while,  at  the  same  time,  she  felt  a  kind  of  a  horrid  joy 
that  her  plots  had  succeeded  so  far  as  almost  to  extin- 
guish hope  in  her  victim,  and  create  doubts  of  Charles' 
sincerity.  With  nothing  to  gain  but  sheer  revenge,  she 
determined  that  Lucy  should  never  receive  that  letter ; 
12 


266         BRANDON  ;    OE,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

her  wounds  should  be  left  to  bleed ;  doubtless  she  would 
before  long  wed  another — the  one  hinted  at,  but  not 
named,  in  Mrs.  Brandon's  letter — and  feeling  at  last  tri- 
umphant in  this  one  aim,  if  in  nothing  else,  she  pictured 
to  herself,  Charles  and  his  family,  and  Lucy  prostrate  at 
her  feet.  "And  they  thought  to  scorn  me  and  my 
daughter!  who  has  the  power  now?"  said  the  fell 
woman,  with  flashing  eyes,  and  a  lip  curling  with  con- 
tempt, and  her  form  dilated  Avith  passion. 

She  threw  the  letter  into  a  casket  in  which  were  the 
two  others  which  Charles  had  written  long  ago,  and 
which,  the  reader  will  remember,  she  sequestrated  in  the 
same  manner  as  she  had  this.  She  had  been  accustomed, 
from  time  to  time,  to  take  them  out  and  gloat  over  their 
contents  in  wanton  mockery;  but  now,  with  this  one 
added,  her  treasury  would  be  much  enriched.  "  I  shall 
be  in  no  want  of  amusement  now,"  sneered  Mildred ;  "  it 
will  only  be  necessary  to  read  these  letters,  from  mother 
and  son ! " 

It  was  but  a  week  or  two  afterward  that,  wishing  to 
unlock  her  casket,  she  went  to  her  own  chamber  to  open 
it.  The  box  yielded  to  the  touch  of  her  fingers,  without 
the  key ;  and  to  her  terror  and  surprise  she  found  that 
its  contents  were  gone.  She  had  evidently  been  robbed  ; 
but  nothing  else  in  her  whole  mansion  had  been  touched. 
Her  servants  could  not  have  committed  the  theft,  having 
no  use  for  letters  which  they  could  not  read.  In  their 
place  was  a  folded  paper,  which  she  opened,  and  tremb- 
ling, found  it  thus  inscribed :  "  You  have  now,  for  many 
years,  pursued  a  triumphant  career  of  guilt ;  but  the 
days  of  your  power  have  passed,  and  your  punishment,  is 
nigh  at  hand.  The  stolen  letters  you  will  see  again."  This 
enigmatical  communication  was  written  in  a  bold  hand, 
which  she  too  well  remembered  ;  and  she  looked  forward 


THE    FATE    OF    MILDRED.  267 

with  dread  to  some  terrible  ordeal ;  she  knew  not  what  it 
was  to  be. 

No  ordinary  pilferer  had  taken  those  letters  ;  and  ho\v 
and  where  should  she  see  them  again  ?  Then  arose  in 
her  mind,  her  own  words,  uttered  so  haughtily  but  a  few 
.  days  before  :  "  "Who  has  the  power  now  ?  "  It  was  not 
long  before  her  fears  took  tangible  shape;  for,  on  the 
very  next  day  she  received  a  note  of  counsel,  which  was 
so  professionally  expressed,  as  to  amount  almost  to  a  com- 
mand, from  the  hated  Mr.  Redtape. 

He  wrote,  that  several  letters,  which  properly  belonged 
to  the  Brandon  family,  had  been  found  in  her  possession  ; 
that  an  explanation  was  necessary,  which  she  could 
doubtless  give,  of  the  means  by  which  they  came  into  her 
keeping ;  and,  moreover,  that  as  Mr.  Brandon  was  ill,  and 
could  not  go  to  Williamsburg,  she  would  greatly  oblige 
him  by  repairing  to  Kingwood,  where  she  would  be  de- 
tained but  a  few  hours.  She  would,  therefore,  on  the 
afternoon  of  the  next  day  proceed  to  the  Hall,  where  he, 
Mr.  Redtape,  would  meet  her.  Mildred  knew  that  it 
would  be  useless  to  evade  such  a  meeting,  and  at  once 
resolved  to  go,  swear  most  positively,  if  interrogated, 
that  she  knew  nothing  of  the  letters  being  found  on  her 
premises ;  and,  that  if  such  were  discovered  there,  they 
were  so  placed  by  designing  persons,  to  injure  her_ 
With  this  purpose,  which  she  now  summoned  her  whole 
resolution  to  perform  without  flinching,  and  anticipating 
no  other  trouble,  Mildred  left  her  home,  according  to  ap- 
pointment, and  drove  over  to  Kingwood. 

It  was  a  gray,  gloomy  afternoon ;  the  wind  was  high, 
and  howled  through  the  branches  of  the  trees,  scattering 
their  leaves  in  wild  confusion.  Mildred  felt  the  influence 
of  the  season,  and  a  sense  of  coming  doom  seemed  to 
overhang  her.  She  entered  that  mansion  which  she  had 


268         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS    AGO. 

so  coveted,  and  sinfully  sought  to  make  her  daughter's 
own ;  and  was  shoMTn  into  one  of  the  parlors,  where  sat 
Mr.  Brandon,  well  enough  to  be  down  stairs,  and  in  his 
easy  chair.  But  as  he  bid  her  good  day,  there  was  no 
tone  of  welcome  in  his  voice.  He  looked  perplexed,  and 
was  very  grave.  In  a  moment  more  the  door  opened, 
and  several  persons  came  in ;  Mrs.  Brandon  not  among 
them,  however,  as  her  husband  had  informed  Lady  Mil- 
dred that  she  would  not  be  visible  that  afternoon. 

In  those  who  entered  the  apartment,  Mrs.  Estcourt 
recognized  Patrick  Henry,  and  the  indefatigable  Red- 
tape  ;  on  whose  face  was  a  expression  of  gratification,  as 
if  he  were  pleased  at  having  discovered  something  of 
importance  connected  with  his  prophesy,  made  so  many 
years  ago,  in  regard  to  the  missing  will.  Just  behind 
him  came  a  portly  form,  and  Mildred  turned  as  pale  as 
ashes,  as  she  returned,  with  an  affrighted  stare,  the  bland 
smile  and  bow  of  Mr.  Castlemain. 

"  Good  God ! "  she  thought,  "  how  comes  that  man 
here ;  he  bodes  no  good  to  me ! " 

"  We  are  all  here  now,  I  believe,"  said  the  impatient 
Redtape. 

"  All,  sir,  I  believe,"  answered  Patrick  Henry,  who,  on 
this  occasion,  had  laid  aside  the  rusticity  of  his  dress, 
and  appeared  clothed  in  the  elegant  fashion  of  the  time. 
"All,  sir,  with  the  exception  of  my  excellent  friend,  Mr. 
Randolph  Brandon.  He,  as  you  know,  has  been  called 
to  the  north  within  a  day  or  two,  in  consequence  of  the 
discovery  of  the  important  letter  which  we  have  found, 
and  which  made  it  necessary  for  him  at  once  to  go  to  his 
cousins,  Miss  Lucy  Tyrrell,  and  Mr.  Charles  Brandon. 
Ave  we  ready  to  begin,  sir  ?"  he  asked,  turning  to  Mr. 
Redtape. 

"Quite,  quite,"  said  Redtape;  "but  you,  Mr.  Henry, 


THE   FATE   OF   MILDRED.  269 

might  as  well  state  the  case,  and  we  have  but  a  few  ques- 
tions to  ask." 

"  Very  good,"  replied  Henry.  "  Now,  madam,"  said 
he,  turning  to  Mildred,  "  I  wish  you  to  understand,  for 
my  own  part,  and  these  gentlemen  also  wish  on  theirs, 
that  we  are  not  combined  together  to  injure  you.  Briefly 
and  plainly,  I  beg  leave  to  inform  you,  without  putting 
you  to  the  trouble  of  denying  knowledge  of  them,  that 
several  letters,  written  by  Mr.  Charles  Brandon  and  his 
mother,  were  found  on  your  premises  under  suspicious 
circumstances ;  they  were  in  a  casket  of  yours,  under 
your  lock  and  key.  How  came  you  by  them  ?" 

"  I  know  nothing  of  them,"  said  Mildred,  haughtily. 

"  Think  again,  madam." 

"  Pshaw ! "  returned  Mildred,  "  do  you  bring  me  here 
to  tease  me  like  a  child  ?  If  I  do  know  anything  of 
them,  what  does  it  matter  to  you,  or  those  surrounding 
you  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  madam,"  replied  Henry,  "  except  that  I  act 
as  a  friend  of  Mr.  Brandon's  family." 

"  Indeed,"  replied  the  lady,  Avith  a  sneer,  "  and  how 
long  since  have  you  gained  admission  to  the  aristocratic 
Brandons  ?  You  are  of  meaner  clay ! " 

"  Madam,"  broke  in  old  Mr.  Brandon,  "  Mr.  Henry  is 
my  very  good  friend,  and  you  will  greatly  oblige  me 
while  in  my  house,  by  assuming  a  tone  of  greater  cour- 
tesy towards  him." 

Without  noticing  Mildred's  rudeness,  Henry  continued; 
"  do  you,  or  do  you  not,  madam,  confess  any  knowledge 
of  these  letters ; "  at  the  same  time  placing  on  the  table 
and  pushing  towards  her  the  three  before  spoken  of. 

She  paused  for  an  instant  to  look  around  the  circle, 
and  read  her  condemnation  in  the  faces  of  the  group, 
conviction,  in  spite  of  her  denial  of  guilt;  then,  a  torrent 


270         BRANDON  ;    OR,    A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

of  passion,  sweeping  away  all  prudence,  she  violently 
exclaimed,  "  Yes,  I  do,  I  do  know  them,  and  their  con- 
tents well,  and  thank  God,  my  plans  have  succeeded. 
My  child  is  dead ;  she  loved  Charles  Brandon,  and  she 
died  of  fruitless  love ;  but  I  have  well  avenged  her.  I 
withheld  those  letters  which  Mrs.  Brandon  hoped  would 
induce  Lucy  Tyrrell  to  become  the  wife  of  her  son.  But 
many  a  day  he  will  wait  for  her ;  before  this,  I  doubt  not, 
she  has  wedded  another,  or  plighted  a  faith  not  to  be 
broken.  Do  your  worst ;  I  defy  you  all.  And  as  to  you, 
pilferer,"  addressing  herself  direct  to  Patrick  Henry, 
"  have  a  care  of  yourself ;  we  shall  see  if  you  are  to  enter 
houses,  and  open  caskets  with  impunity.  Who  wrote 
those  lines  I  found  in  place  of  the  letters  ?" 

"  You  will  soon  find  out,  madam,"  said  Redtape,  coolly, 
"  I  am  glad  you  have  answered  so  promptly ;  I  antici- 
pated much  more  trouble.  You  have  confessed  to  the 
letters,  and  now  I  will  gratify  you,  in  turn,  with  a  piece 
of  intelligence.  Mr.  Randolph  Brandon,  who  has  been 
the  means  of  our  finding  these  letters,  through  the  story 
of  the  poor,  ignorant  black,  whom  you  deceived,  is 
already  far  on  his  way  to  Miss  Lucy  Tyrrell,  with  the 
full  sanction  of  Mr.  Brandon,  to  propose  for  her  hand  for 
his  son  Charles.  We  have  every  reason  to  believe  that 
he  will  be  successful,  and  that  your  schemes  will  be  de- 
feated. Your  threats  against  Mr.  Henry  are  powerless; 
here — you  may  read  it — is  our  search  warrant,  obtained 
from  the  proper  authorities.  We  watched  our  opportu- 
nity, and  entered  your  house  in  your  absence  in  order  to 
avoid  a  scene.  We  wished  nothing  but  the  letters,  and 
found  them  easily.  Now,  my  friend  Castlemain  will  in- 
form you  of  another  matter ;  of  that  will,"  said  Redtape, 
slowly  and  gravely ;  "  you  know  the  will  I  mean." 

Mildred  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  put  her  hand  to 


THE   FATE   OF   MILDRED.  271 

her  face,  in  agony.  She  felt  as  if  on  a  raging  sea,  with 
but  a  plank  beneath  her,  and  that  soon  to  be  dashed  from 
her  grasp.  Her  evil  days  had  come.  Castlemain  detailed 
the  whole  story  of  Elisha  Barlow's  capture  and  punish- 
ment, of  her  nephew  Ralph's  death,  and  of  the  discovery 
of  the  will,  which  he  read  aloud.  But  in  all  his  narration 
he  did  not  mention  Brooke's  name. 

"  You  see  your  position,  madam,"  he  added;  "  you  are 
at  the  mercy  of  the  rightful  owner  of  the  estate." 

"Well,"  said  Mildred,  suddenly,  "at  whose  mercy, 
then  ?  Is  he  not  beneath  the  sea,  as  you  have  said  ?  I 
am  the  rightful  owner,  show  me  another." 

She  rose  from  her  chair,  and  once  more  proudly  gazed 
on  those  around  her.  As  she  spoke,  Castlemain  left  the 
room  ;  and  returning  behind  her,  just  as  she  pronounced 
the  sentence,  "show  me  another;"  said,  "behold  her!" 
With  a  sudden  start,  Mildred  turned  her  head,  and  saw 
a  female  form,  clothed  in  deep  black,  supported  by  an 
officer;  and  at  the  same  instant,  recognizing  her  sister 
Miriam,  and  Admiral  Brooke,  she  shrieked,  and  sank 
swooning  into  her  chair.  On  reviving,  she  felt  her  sister 
embracing  her,  and  saying,  soothingly,  "  do  not  fear,  dear 
Mildred,  I  know  and  forgive  all.  Do  not  dread  poverty, 
for  of  all  I  have,  you  shall  share.  We  will  leave  this 
land,  and  go  back  to  that  of  our  fathers.  Think  no  more 
of  ills  ;  and  let  us  live  to  make  each  other  happy ;  there 
is  yet  time." 

But  Mildred  heeded  not ;  she  glared  at  Brooke,  and 
muttered  incoherently.  At  length  she  said,  wildly, 

"Where  is  he — my  husband?  You!  you!  Greville 
Brooke — speak ! " 

She  was  removed  from  the  apartment,  and  Admiral 
Brooke  then  told  his  story,  saying  that  it  was  due  to  Mr. 
Brandon,  as  his  family  had  been  harmed  by  the  machina- 


272    BRANDON  ;  OR,  A  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 

tions  of  Mildred.  He  said  that  remorse  had  preyed 
upon  him  for  his  sins  ;  had  given  him  no  peace  by  night 
or  day ;  he  had  heard  many  years  before  from  Castle- 
main  of  Miriam's  wrongs,  of  the  wicked  course  of  Mil- 
dred and  her  accomplices,  Jane  Hook  and  Elisha  Bar- 
low ;  he  determined  to  make  the  only  reparation  in  his 
power  according  to  his  sense  of  honor,  and  for  the  pur- 
pose had  gone  to  Mildred's  husband  to  offer  that  satis- 
faction which  the  spirit  of  the  age  countenanced,  but  had 
found  Estcourt  too  far  gone  with  mortal  disease  to 
accept  his  offer.  He  had  felt  intense  regret  at  not  hav- 
ing at  that  period  attempted  to  carry  out  his  purpose  of 
providing  handsomely  for  Ralph  and  taking  him  under 
his  charge,  until  he  found  by  his  delay  the  boy  had  been 
suffered  to  become  an  outlaAv.  He  had  then  for  years 
sought  him  with  the  hope  of  reclaiming  him ;  and  here 
he  detailed  to  his  audience  an  account  of  Ralph's  at- 
tempted capture  on  the  coast,  and  his  own  mishap,  which 
the  reader  is  already  acquainted  with.  He  lastly  added 
a  narration  of  the  smuggler's  fate ;  of  his  having  with 
Castlemain  persuaded  Miriam  to  leave  the  island,  after 
learning  of  her  son's  death,  to  claim  the  estate  left  her 
by  a  codicil  to  the  will,  in  case  of  the  demise  of  Ralph  ; 
of  his  having  with  Redtapc  searched  Mildred's  house, 
leaving  the  mysterious  paper  in  place  of  the  letters  in 
her  casket — the  rest  they  knew. 

Then,  in  a  few  words,  Mr.  Redtape  corroborated  the 
story,  and  added  that  Estcourt  had  employed  him  and 
Mr.  Parchmount  to  draw  the  will  as  it  now  stood,  being 
the  only  way  he  could  punish  his  guilty  wife.  The  docu- 
ment only  required  another  codicil  of  slight  importance 
to  make  it  complete,  when  it  disappeared  so  myste- 
riously. 

All  was  now  explained,  all  revealed.    The  party  of 


THE   FATE   OP   MILDRED.  273 

gentlemen  heartily  congratulated  Mr.  Brandon  on  having 
so  narrowly  escaped  the  schemes  of  Mildred  Estcourt, 
and  wished  his  brave  son  all  happiness  with  his  destined 
bride.  They  then  departed  for  Williamsburg,  promising 
to  meet  again  in  the  morning,  and  arrange  all  things 
definitely  between  Mildred  and  her  sister. 

But  it  was  ordained  that  that  meeting  was  never  to 
take  place  within  the  Avails  of  Kingwood.  The  misera- 
ble Mildred  had  been  conveyed  to  a  chamber,  and  was 
attended  by  her  sister  and  Mrs.  Brandon,  who  used 
every  effort  to  alleviate  her  sufferings,  but  she  was  alter- 
nately raving  or  moping  like  one  in  idiocy.  At  length 
she  was  quieted,  and  lay  in  apparent  slumber.  In  order 
more  effectually  to  secure  her  repose,  they  concluded  to 
retire  to  the  drawing  room,  leaving  a  female  servant  to 
guard  her,  and  call  them  if  she  stirred.  But  no  sooner 
had  they  gone  away  than  the  domestic,  negro-like,  stole 
off  to  the  kitchen,  thinking  it  much  more  pleasant  to 
doze  there  by  the  fire  than  to  watch  a  woman  whom  she 
feared  to  remain  by.  About  an  hour  after  this  Mildred 
arose,  not  in  her  right  mind,  but  wandering  and  distress- 
ed. In  her  sleep,  all  the  scenes  of  her  evil  life  had 
passed  in  review,  and  her  victims  heaped  reproaches  on 
her,  like  the  ghosts  who  cursed  the  murderer  Richard  the 
night  before  the  battle  of  Bosworth  Field.  She  started  up 
in  agony,  and  to  her  heated  fancy  the  apparitions  of  the 
dead  thronged  around  her,  and  menaced  her  with  evil. 
They  made  companionship  with  those  she  knew  to  be 
living,  those  who  but  a  few  hours  before  had  humbled 
her  to  the  dust.  There  stood  her  injured  husband,  by 
the  side  of  his  daughter  Blanche,  who  now  looked  stern- 
ly upon  her  as  she  never  had  in  life,  while  close  beside 
them  was  one  dreadful  to  behold,  with  blood  dropping 
12* 


274        BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

from  his  limbs,  mingled  with  the  water  on  his  dripping 
sailor's  garb. 

Here,  too,  were  the  vile  faces  of  Elisha  Barlow  and 
Jane  Hook,  turned  upon  her  with  triumphant  leer.  It 
was  too  horrible ;  she  put  her  hands  over  her  face  and 
closed  her  eyes,  but  still  they  were  there ;  only  the  crea- 
tures of  her  delirium,  yet  to  her  absolute  forms  of  living 
death.  Surrounding  her  bedside,  they  glared  at  her; 
she  rose  in  terror,  she  rushed  towards  the  window,  and 
lifted  the  sash ;  but  the  hellish  faces  stared  in  upon  her 
from  outer  darkness.  Turn  where  she  would  they  pur- 
sued her.  At  length,  in  desperation,  she  rushed  for  the 
door,  bursting,  as  she  imagined,  through  a  legion  of 
fiends,  and  without  perceiving  what  she  had  done  in  her 
chamber,  passed  down  the  staircase,  which  was  near  by, 
and,  opening  a  door  close  to  the  foot  of  the  steps,  went 
out  into  the  night  air,  she  knew  not  whither.  In  her 
agony  in  the  chamber,  she  had  overthrown  a  little  table 
with  two  wax  lights  upon  it;  they  fell  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  and  in  an  instant  the  flame  was  communicated  to 
the  muslin  drapery.  The  entire  bed  and  curtains  were 
blazing  in  a  moment,  the  fire  spread  from  them  to  the 
dry  panel  work,  and,  fanned  by  the  blast  which  came 
in  through  the  window  which  Mildred  had  opened,  it 
rolled  on,  its  fury  increasing  every  moment,  poured  out 
of  the  open  door  with  volumes  of  smoke,  and  rapidly 
finding  food  in  the  woodwork  of  the  hall  and  staircase, 
grew  strong  beyond  the  aid  of  the  household  to  quell  it. 
An  alarm  was  now  sounded  by  the  negroes,  and  the  in- 
mates of  the  house  were  aroused,  but  too  late.  Not- 
withstanding the  great  thickness  of  the  walls,  the  fire  had 
made  too  much  headway  to  be  subdued ;  like  a  subtle 
and  agile  enemy,  cut  off  in  one  place  it  burst  forth  more 
furiously  in  another,  until  perceiving  the  folly  of  attempt*- 


THE   PATE   OP   MILDEED.  275 

ing  to  check  it,  the  efforts  of  the  crowd  Were  employed 
in  securing  such  articles  as  were  within  reach.  All  the 
plate,  and  many  of  the  pictures  and  valuables,  were  re- 
moved to  a  safe  distance ;  and  then  the  family  looked  on 
in  anguish,  and  saw  their  proud  home  wrapped  in  ruin, 
yet  magnificent  to  the  last. 

Mildred  had  rushed  from  the  house,  and  wandered 
away,  pursued  by  the  demons  of  her  imagination.  At 
length,  she  stopped  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  some  dis- 
tance below  the  mansion.  The  very  winds  howled  hi 
vengeance  around  her;  the  bright  stars  glowed  as  in 
wrath  above  her,  and  at  that  instant  rang  in  her  ears 
the  cry  of  fire. 

She  stood  gazing  upon  the  flame  as  it  gathered 
strength,  and  lighted  up  the  country  for  miles  around 
with  its  awful  light ;  then  the  fiends  once  more  shrieked 
in  her  ears,  "  Behold  thy  work  accomplished." 

And,  as  they  screamed  and  pointed,  the  dreadful  glare 
as  of  hell  itself  shining  in  their  faces ;  high  above  the 
sound  of  the  winds,  the  cries  of  the  workers,  and  the 
roaring  of  the  fire-blast,  rose  the  boom  of  the  bell  in 
the  great  clock  tower,  as  with  sullen  beat  the  iron  ham- 
mer smote  the  stroke  of  twelve.  Midnight  had  come — 
her  last !  None  saw  her,  none  heeded  her,  and  as  the 
bell  from  its  burnt  fastenings,  loosed,  fell  into  the  surging 
fire  below,  Mildred,  who  heard  to  obey  its  deep  knell, 
turned  her  face  from  the  scene,  and  with  one  desperate 
leap  plunging  into  the  river,  sunk  beneath  its  lurid 
waters. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

LUCY  SURVIVES   HER   SORROWS. 

OUR  tale  is  nearly  told.  We  left  Charles  Brandon 
stretched  upon  the  battle  field  ;  he  was  at  first  thought 
to  be  dead,  and  dreadfully  wounded  as  he  was  found  to 
be,  some  days  elapsed  before  he  regained  his  conscious- 
ness. When  at  length  he  did  so,  he  discovered  the 
faithful  Bela  Tilley  sitting  beside  his  pallet,  with  his  lank 
countenance  covered  by  his  huge  hands,  moaning  dismally 
and  keeping  time  to  the  noise  by  a  see-saw  motion  of  his 
body.  Charles  gazed  at  him  for  some  moments  as  in  a 
dream ;  at  length  he  feebly  stirred,  and  Bela,  hearing  him 
move,  looked  up,  burst  into  tears  of  joy,  and  at  last 
found  utterance:  "Wai!  blessed  be  the  Lord's  name, 
ye've  come  tu  again ;  I  guessed  yeou  was  abeout  gone  when 
I  fust  diskivered  yer,  all  bloody  and  stuck  full  o'  bag- 
genet  holes,  as  one  o'  them  ere  tarnation  porcupines  as 
hed  squirted  all  his  quills  eout.  Gineral  Wolfe's  dead 
an'  Gineral  Mountcalam  tu,  so  I'll  jist  squat  deown  and  rite 
Mister  Brandon  this  ere  pleasant  noos ;  all  yer've  got  tu 
du  is  jist  to  lie  still."  So  Bela  squared  his  elbows,  and, 
after  innumerable  efforts  to  pen  an  elegant  epistle,  worthy 
of  reception  at  aristocratic  Kingwood,  gave  it  up  in 
despair,  and  wisely  indited,  in  his  own  fashion,  the  letter 
which  we  have  already  mentioned. 

As  soon  as  Charles  was  able  to  raise  his  body,  his  leg 

having  been  carefully  set  by  the  military  surgeon,  he  was 

gladdened  to  his  heart's  core  by  the  intelligence  contained 

in  his  father's  letter,  written  in  regard  to  Lucy.     It  told 

(276) 


LUCY   SURVIVES   HER   SORROWS.  277 

him  of  her  present  home,  that  he  might  at  once  write  to 
her,  making  unreserved  offer  of  his  hand,  and  that  he  had 
already,  together  with  his  mother,  written  in  accordance 
with  this  pel-mission  to  Mr.  Tyrrell's  family.  Anticipat- 
ing now  nothing  but  happiness,  he  poured  out  his  whole 
soul  in  a  letter  to  his  beloved,  and,  rapt  in  reveries  of 
bliss,  gave  himself  up  with  patience  to  the  confinement 
of  his  pallet  and  the  orders  of  the  surgeon,  a  man  of  few 
words  and  great  ability.  Honest  Bela  scarce  left  him  for 
an  instant,  and  continually  amused  him  by  his  odd 
remarks. 

"  Where  is  that  Indian,  Bela  ?"  said  Charles,  one  morn- 
ing, "  is  he  secured  ready  for  exhibition  ?  " 

"  Oh,  consarn  him,  no,"  said  Bela ;  "  them  are  pesky 
red  skins  is  more  wrigglesome  nor  eels,  they  is.  I  shot 
one  on  em,  but  could'nt  keep  him  alive  no  how ;  got  his 
tommy-hawk  tho',  an  his  beads,  an  his  feathers,  so  calcu- 
late I  can  jest  paint  up  myself,  and  the  performance  '11 
come  puty  nigh  on  to  him." 

Thanks  to  a  good  constitution  and  careful  nursing, 
Charles  soon  began  to  gain  strength,  and  received  honor- 
able mention  in  the  official  despatches  for  his  gallant  con- 
duct, though  he  had,  in  the  first  report,  been  enumerated 
among  the  dead.  Hoping  now  daily  for  intelligence  from 
Lucy,  he  was  suddenly  surprised  and  delighted  by  the 
appearance  of  his  cousin  Randolph.  He  looked  wearied 
with  his  journey  from  Virginia,  and  the  intense  sympathy 
and  pity  impressed  upon  his  countenance  was  at  first 
attributed  by  Charles  to  anxious  interest  in  his  own 
shattered  and  wounded  frame. 

The  autumn  leaves  were  fast,  fast  falling  from  the  elms 
and  maples  of  old  Cambridge,  and  filling  its  fields  and 
avenues  with  their  rich  yellow  and  scarlet  tributes,  as  the 


278         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

hapless  Lucy  Tyrrell  prepared,  in  brokenness  of  heart,  to 
give  her  hand  to  Mr.  Lascelles.  She  yielded  to  the 
solicitations  of  her  parents,  who  now  implored  her  in 
language  too  earnest  to  be  longer  resisted.  She  could  no 
longer  exercise  the  will  to  oppose  them  ;  she  was  utterly 
prostrated  by  the  conduct  of  Charles,  which,  to  her,  was 
without  a  parallel  in  baseness,  and  she  attributed  the  long, 
strange  silence  of  Randolph  and  Matilda  to  their  un- 
willingness to  write  on  a  subject  which  must  have  caused 
them  intense  sorrow.  She  had  passed  days,  weeks 
almost,  in  passionate  grief;  she  had  wept  until  her  tears 
refused  longer  to  flow ;  she  had  indulged  in  sorrow  till 
she  had  scarce  further  power  even  to  sigh  over  her  fate, 
and  when  the  news  came  of  the  surrender  of  Quebec,  and 
she  read,  with  unutterable  anguish,  among  the  lists  of 
casualties,  the  name  of  her  faithless  lover,  who  had  fallen 
bravely  fighting  at  the  head  of  his  company,  abandoning 
forever  her  dreams  of  the  past,  she  sent  for  her  father, 
and  summoning  almost  superhuman  resolution,  told  him, 
with  fearful  calmness,  that  she  could  no  longer  oppose  his 
desires,  in  regard  to  her  union  with  Mr.  Lascelles.  She  had 
not  a  heart  to  give,  but  could  bestow  her  hand,  were  it  still 
worth  the  asking.  For  her  own  choice  she  would  prefer 
to  follow  in  death  the  one  who  had  destroyed  her  happi- 
ness, but  as  it  pleased  heaven  to  deny  her  wish,  she  would 
now  obey  her  parents. 

Her  father,  rejoiced  to  see  this  change  in  Lucy,  treated 
her  with  the  utmost  tenderness,  at  the  same  time  asking 
that  the  marriage  might  soon  take  place.  Lucy  was 
indifferent  to  the  period  of  the  ceremony,  but  she  insisted, 
and  in  that  determination  was  inflexible,  that  the  wedding 
should  be  one  of  strictest  privacy  and  simplicity.  Mr. 
Lascelles  was  forced  to  submit,  and  Lucy  informing  him 
that  in  her  he  would  find  one  who  would  endeavor  to  do 


LUCY   SURVIVES   HER  SORROWS.  279 

her  duty  by  him  as  a  wife,  but  that  she  did  not  and  could 
not  love  again,  bid  adieu  forever  to  all  hope  and  joy  in 
life,  and  became  the  Avife  of  his  bosom,  the  inmate  and 
mistress  of  his  stately  home. 

Her  parents  at  once  came  to  live  with  her ;  Mr.  Las- 
celles  was  kind  and  bounteous  in  his  hospitality,  and  en- 
gaged in  her  household  duties,  surrounded  by  those  who 
loved  her,  she  might  finally  have  forgotten  her  sorrows. 
But  the  cup  of  her  misery  was  not  yet  full.  She  had  been 
scarce  a  month  married,  when  one  morning,  during  the 
absence  of  Mr.  Lascelles,  as  she  was  left  alone  with  her 
parents,  the  servant  in  attendance  placed  a  letter  in  her 
hands.  She  glanced  at  the  superscription,  and  turned  as 
pale  as  marble.  Could  that  be  indeed  the  handwriting 
once  so  loved  and  familiar,  but  not  seen  for  long  years  ? 
"Was  it  from  beyond  the  tomb,  from  him  she  believed  to 
have  died  on  the  field  of  battle  ?  She  summoned  strength 
to  open  it,  and,  motionless,  read  its  entire  contents ; 
then  listlessly  handing  it  across  the  table  to  her  father, 
who  had  watched  her  with  breathless  interest,  she  placed 
her  hands  for  a  moment  to  her  temples,  and  one  wild 
shriek  of  agony  burst  from  her  lips,  as  she  fell  in  convul- 
sions to  the  floor.  Removed  to  her  chamber,  it  was  many 
hours  before  she  regained  her  consciousness.  At  length, 
arousing  from  her  swoon  she  exclaimed,  in  tones  of  the 
bitterest  grief,  "Oh,  God!  and  have  I  lived  for  this; 
have  I  suffered  in  silence  so  long,  and  endured  patiently, 
to  be  thus  requited  ?  Write  to  him,  write  to  him ;  I 
cannot,  but  say  that  I  am  dead  !  " 

The  fatal  letter  explained  all  things ;  it  was  the  one 
which  Charles  had  written,  in  spite  of  the  orders  of  his 
surgeon  to  avoid  exertion,  and  at  the  imminent  risk  of 
bringing  back  his  fever,  as  he  yet  lay  upon  his  sick  bed, 
but  written  with  high  hope,  with  devoted  spirit,  detailing 


280         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A    HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

all  the  circumstances  which  the  reader  already  knows. 
Clearly  establishing  his  own  innocence,  and  relying  on 
Lucy's  unaltered  affection,  he  concluded  with  the  convic- 
tion that  their  mutual  trials  were  now  at  an  end,  and  joy- 
fully anticipating  the  hour  when  in  person  he  could  renew 
the  offer  of  his  hand  and  fortune  to  the  only  woman  he 
had  ever  loved,  or  ever  could  love. 

The  misery  of  the  distracted  parents  maybe  imagined, 
as  they  perused  this  long  epistle.  To  add  to  their 
troubles,  on  the  afternoon  of  that  very  same  day,  arrived 
the  letters  from  the  Brandons;  .which  ought  to  have 
reached  their  destination  a  month  before,  but  which, 
owing  to  some  singular  fatality,  never  accounted  for, 
came,  alas,  too  late. 

We  have  but  little  more  to  tell.  Our  story  has  been 
a  sad  one  to  relate ;  for  though  presented  in  the  guise  of 
fiction,  the  incidents  of  Lucy's  life  were  those  of  a  real 
personage,  whose  history  was  unfortunate,  as  we  have 
portrayed  it. 

Mr.  Tyrrell  briefly  answered  the  letters,  informing  the 
Brandons  of  Lucy's  marriage.  There  was  nothing  else  to 
be  spoken  of;  neither  hopes  for  her  happiness,  nor  regrets 
for  her  fate.  A  day  or  two  after  despatching  his  letters, 
he  received  a  visit  from  a  young  officer.  It  was  Mont- 
cure,  one  of  the  companions  of  Charles  in  his  expedition 
to  Quebec ;  who,  on  being  detached  from  service,  and 
on  his  return  to  Virginia,  had  promised  Brandon  to  visit 
Lucy,  and  bear  the  news  of  his  convalescence.  He  heard 
the  sad  truth  from  her  father  ;  and  hastening  homeward, 
met  Randolph  in  New  York  ;  to  whom  he  imparted  this 
intelligence.  His  hearer  was  so  powerfully  affected,  that 
instead  of  pursuing  his  journey  to  Boston,  he  proceeded 
at  once  up  the  Hudson  river,  and  made  his  way  to  Que- 
bec by  the  shortest  route.  In  due  time,  he  told  his  mel- 


LUCY   SURVIVES   HER  SORROWS.  281 

ancholy  story ;  and,  as  soon  as  Charles  health  would  per- 
mit, returned  with  his  broken  hearted  charge  to  Virginia ; 
where  they  beheld,  in  Charles'  ruined  home,  too  true  an 
image  of  the  destruction  of  his  earthly  hopes.  The 
young  soldier  found  his  parents  in  altered  health  and 
spirits ;  greatly  changed  in  the  year  of  his  absence.  His 
mother's  lovely  smile  had  faded ;  and  her  locks  were 
streaked  with  gray ;  while  his  father's  portly  form  was 
shrunk  and  bent ;  and  he  wandered  about,  a  changed 
man,  often  shaking  his  head,  and  sadly  muttering.  The 
old  man  took  matters  much  to  heart ;  but  Charles,  for 
the  remainder  of  his  life,  did  all  he  could  to  soothe  him. 
The  proud  Hall  he  so  loved  to  contemplate,  was  never 
rebuilt ;  and  ere  many  years,  before  the  ordinary  allot- 
ment of  nature's  bound,  the  softened,  chastened  father, 
and  the  beautiful  mother  were  called  from  earth.  It  was 
when  the  Revolutionary  troubles  had  begun,  that  Mr. 
Brandon,  011  his  dying  bed,  called  Charles  to  his  side, 
and  said,  "  My  son !  I  have  done  you  heavy  wrong,  and 
I  fear  that  I  shall  not  be  forgiven  for  it.  I  have  seen 
with  pain,  that  for  several  years  you  have  leaned  towards 
the  cause  of  the  colonies,  against  his  sacred  majesty,  God 
bless  him  !  but  I  have  not  said  to  you  one  word  upon  the 
subject.  I  am  old,  and  weak,  and  erring ;  you  are  yet 
young  and  strong  ;  do  as  seemeth  to  you  best ;  be  faith- 
ful to  your  country,  as  God  may  incline  you.  I  can  only 
add  my  blessing,  and  leave  you  to  act  by  the  advice  of 
these  two  friends,  (turning  to  Randolph,  and  to  Patrick 
Henry,  who  were  now  often  by  him,)  Avhom  I  once  also 
wronged,  but  now  ask  of  them  pardon  for  my  faults. 
But  for  myself,  bear  ye  witness  for  me,  I  die  as  I  have 
lived,  a  loyal  subject  of  my  king." 

The  staunch  aristocrat  was  gathered  to  his  fathers; 
and  when  the  dav  of  trial   came,  Charles  joined  the 


282         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED    YEARS  AGO. 

American  army,  and  rose  high  in  the  favor  of  Washing- 
ton. Had  he  lived,  he  might  at  last  have  been  united  to 
Lucy,  but  at  the  battle  of  Eutaw  Springs,  in  South  Caro- 
lina, just  as  that  memorable  bayonet  charge  was  made 
by  the  troops  under  the  command  of  the  good  and  brave 
Otho  Holland  Williams,  of  Maryland,  which  decided  the 
fortunes  of  that  day — Charles  Brandon  was  shot  dead  ; 
bravely  fighting  against  the  royal  cause ;  as  he  had  be- 
fore fought  in  its  favor  on  the  Plains  of  Abraham.  His 
large  estates  devolved  upon  his  cousins,  Randolph  and 
Matilda ;  who  continued  to  dwell  in  peace  in  the  land ; 
and  their  descendants,  at  this  day,  hold  rank  Avith  the 
best  and  most  affluent  citizens  of  the  Old  Dominion. 

Of  the  other  characters  of  our  history,  we  have  to  add 
that  Miriam  did  not  long  survive  her  sister  Mildred ;  of 
whose  suicide  she  continued  ignorant ;  imagining,  as 
others  did,  that  her  fate  was  accompanied  by  the  dreadful 
terrors  of  the  fire.  It  was  found  that  a  good  portion  of 
her  property  had  been  dissipated ;  and  Miriam  bequeathed 
the  remainder,  in  equal  shares,  to  Mr.  Castlemain,  and 
to  Lucy. 

Jack  Lawton  lived  to  a  good  old  age  ;  and  to  the  last 
his  merry  eye  twinkled  like  a  beacon,  which  weary  travel- 
lers hailed  with  delight.  Peace  to  his  ashes  ! 

The  Reverend  Thomas  Pollen,  having  some  difficulty 
with  his  flock,  left  Rhode  Island,  and  went  back  to  Eng- 
land, in  1760.  But  for  thirty  years,  at  least,  after  his 
departure,  did  Mrs.  Morpus,  under  the  shadows  of  the 
Trojan  helmet,  and  the  veteran  umbrella,  continue  to 
train  the  youthful  mind  of  Newport.  Seated  on  her 
"  bel-cony,"  she  enjoyed  the  summer  breezes,  no  longer 
ruffled  by  the  sight  of  Elisha  Barlow.  She  formed  a 
strong  attachment  to  the  writings  of  a  celebrated  Swiss 
author ;  and  it  is  related  of  her,  that  one  of  her  canons 


LUCY   SURVIVES   HER   SORROWS.  283 

of  "  deportment,"  instructed  young  ladies,  who  would 
study  true  elegance,  to  be  found  by  their  morning  visi- 
tors in  a  musing  attitude,  and  with  a  finger  inserted  be- 
tween the  leaves  of  "  Zimmerman  on  Solitude." 

As  for  Bela  Tilley,  he  continued  all  his  life  an  un- 
changed specimen  of  the  universal  Yankee.  Whenever 
he  became  disgusted  with  quahaugs  and  leather  pies,  he 
would  leave  his  family  for  weeks  or  months  at  a  time  to 
themselves,  in  Xewport ;  his  absence  causing  them  about 
as  much  anxiety  as  if  he  had  merely  gone  after  a  black 
fish,  off  Seal  Rock.  lie  often  repaired  to  Kingwood, 
where  he  always  found  warm  welcome  and  plenty  of  but- 
ternuts. He  was  in  several  of  the  Revolutionary  bat- 
tles; and  though  he  had  a  high  reverence  for  General 
Washington,  he  always  declared,  as  his  opinion,  that  "  he 
waru't  quite  so  com-plete,  as  Gineral  Wolfe  and  Mount- 
ca-lam ! " 

And  Lucy — Lucy  Lascelles.  When  time,  the  universal 
comforter,  had  softened  the  memory  of  her  sorrows,  she 
felt  a  sense  of  thankfulness  that  her  lover,  unfortunate  as 
he  had  been,  had  passed  thrcfugh  all  trials  unspotted  with 
dishonor.  She  heard  indirectly  from  him,  that  he  acquit' 
ted  her  of  all  blame ;  and  that,  although  they  could  not 
meet  again,  he  must  still  love  her  to  the  last.  As  years 
passed  on,  Lucy  devoted  herself  to  her  family  with  a 
serene  spirit  of  resignation.  She  was  not  blessed  with 
children ;  and  her  arts  of  pleasing  were  all  bestowed  upon 
her  husband  and  her  parents.  Mr.  Lascelles  generously 
performed  his  part  in  life ;  but  his  tastes  were  so  utterly 
different  from  Lucy's,  that  great  sympathy  between  them 
was  impossible.  She  was  destined  to  lose  both  her  pa- 
rents before  many  years  of  her  married  life,  and  was 
finally  left  alone  in  the  world,  by  the  death  of  her  hus- 
band, some  twelve  months  after  she  had  once  more  shed 


284         BRANDON  ;    OR,   A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

wild  tears  of  sorrow,  as  she  heard  of  the  tragic  end  of 
Charles,  on  the  field  of  honor;  but,  "God  be  praised," 
she  said,  "  that  good,  and  generous,  and  noble,  as  was  his 
life,  it  was  yielded  at  last  in  a  holy  cause !  " 

The  reckless  extravagance  and  speculations  of  Mr. 
Lascelles,  left  her  at  his  death  but  ill  provided  for,  except- 
ing by  the  bequest  of  Miriam ;  but,  by  great  prudence 
and  energy,  she,  in  time,  recovered  sufficient  from  the 
wreck  of  her  husband's  fortune,  to  maintain  her  in  afflu- 
ence for  the  remainder  of  her  days.  Still  in  the  full  bloom 
of  life  and  beauty,  she  naturally  attracted  attention ;  but, 
withdrawing  entirely  from  society,  she  resumed  and 
steadily  pursued  her  literary  accomplishments.  Those 
who  knew  her  but  slightly,  sometimes  imputed  her  seclu- 
sion to  hauteur  and  pride  in  wealth ;  but  in  that  stately 
home  she  thought  not  of  riches,  save  as  a  means  of  com- 
fort for  the  poor  and  worthy,  who  never  sought  her  in 
vain.  With  Randolph  and  Matilda  she  continued  on 
terms  of  the  most  affectionate  intercourse ;  and  once,  nt 
their  solicitation,  made  a  journey  to  Virginia, after  peace 
was  declared.  She  visited, 'at  Kingwood,  every  spot  hal- 
lowed to  her  by  the  memory  of  Charles  Brandon ;  the 
little  brook,  on  whose  banks  he  had  for  many  an  hour 
mused  of  her;  the  hills  he  had  loved ;  the  forest  recesses ; 
the  bright  flowing  river,  James. 

Even  the  shattered,  mouldering  ruins  of  the  Hall, 
appeared  no  longer  desolate ;  for  shrubs  and  vines  now 
waved  in  green  luxuriance  over  them,  hiding  their  black- 
ened masses — to  her,  emblematic  of  the  new  and  tender 
verdure,  which  the  hand  of  God  had  sown  again  in  her 
once  torn  and  wasted  heart.  She  stood  daily  beside  the 
simple  monument  erected  over  the  remains  of  her  lover, 
humbly  thanking  heaven  that  her  pilgrim  feet  had  been 
permitted  to  press  the  ground  which  held  his  honored  day. 


LUCY   SURVIVES   HER   SORROWS.  285 

As  her  life  passed,  every  summer  found  her  at  the  dear 
old  island — a  friend,  as  she  ever  had  been,  to  the  poor 
cottagers.  And  when  she  visited  the  rocky  shore,  to 
watch  the  setting  sun,  her  gaze,  as  in  her  days  of  trial, 
turned  often  to  the  south,  where  slept  the  one  she  loved. 

But  now,  she  felt  only  serene  felicity ;  the  deep  sea  had 
fulfilled  its  promises  of  tranquil  joy,  and  as  its  choral 
waves  rang  with  notes  of  triumph,  from  her  soul  fled  the 
last  memory  of  pain ;  and  she  was  filled  with  that  "  peace 
of  God,  which  passeth  all  understanding." 


THE  END. 


STANFORD   AND   DELISSER 

HAVE    RECENTLY    PUBLISHED    THE    FOLLOWING 

NEW   WORKS. 

i. 

"LIFE-THOUGHTS"   OF  GREAT  MEN. 

SECOND  EDITION  OF 

PEARLS  OF  THOUGHT  :  Religious  and  Philo- 
sophical, gathered  from  old  authors.  18mo.,  cloth,  antique  red 
edges,  50  cents. 

l-.VI  FOR.tl    WITH    THE  «  WORDS    OF    JESUS." 

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Inquirer. 

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II. 
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THE  LITTLE  CHURCH  LIBRARY, 

15V    JKVVV    ITIARMII    PARKER. 

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CONTENTS:  Around  the  Manger— The  Light  of  the  World— Seeds  for  the  Spring- 
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in. 

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Good  Man's  Life-Mark  Wilton -Angel's  Song-Facts  in  a  Clergyman's  Life-Lady 


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Po,it. 


rv. 
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V. 

THE   LIFE   AND    ADVENTURES 

MAJ.  ROGER  SHERMAN  POTTER  ; 

Together  with  an  accurate  and  exceedingly  interesting  account  of  his  great  achieve- 
ments in  Politics,  Diplomacy,  and  War,—  all  of  which  are  recorded  out  of  sheer 
love  for  the  Martial  Spirit  of  this  truly  Ambitious  Nation.  1  Vol.  12mo.  $1  25 

Illustrated  with  12  Spirited  and  Characteristic  Engravings  by  Huber. 

Wherein  the  author  declares  that  this  great  work  was  neither  translated  from  the 
French,  nor  prigged  from  the  unpublished  work  of  an  English  Author,  but  was 
truly  and  honestly  written  for  the  especial  benefit  of  his  publishers, 

BY    I'lll   I   I  {.     VAN     I  Kl  «.!   l>  \l,r. 

Who,  without  asking  permission,  respectfully  dedicates  it  to  his  friend  and  benefactor. 
James  Buchanan,  President  of  these  United  States. 


NEARLY  READY,  OR  JUST  PUBLISHED. 

Brandon ;  or,  A  Hundred  Years  Ago :  an  hisorical  romance.  By  OSMONI>  TIFFANY,  Esq. 

Ernestin;  or,  The  Heart's  Longing:  an  original  romance. 

Chronicles  of  the  Bastile,  with  20  plates. 

Eddies  round  the  Eectory. 

Memoirs  to  Illustrate  the  History  of  my  own  Times.    By  M.  GirrzoT. 

Lays  from  the  Land  of  Luther,  with  original  designs.    4to. 

The  Parting  Spirit's  address  to  its  mother,  profusely  illustrated. 

Little  Ellen;  or,  The  Farmer's  Child. 

Fairy  Tales  from  the  Qerman. 

Melodies  for  Childhood,  revised  edition,  with  40  new  engravings. 

Mttchelet's  Life  of  Joan  of  Arc,  being  the  1st  vol.  of  Household  Library,  in  12  vols. 

Sketches  of  Life  and  Landscape.    By  Rev.  RALPH  HOTT. 

The  Grave.    By  ROBERT  BLAIR,  with  the  beautiful  designs  of  Blake.    4to. 


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